This morning, while walking the dog, I hear the hawk screech overhead
she cries out like a mother
circling in the silky sad sky, ’round and ’round,
the sun brightening her wings as she angles and glides in the wind
she’s following us- I swear she is!
us trekking up the cul-de-sac hill and back down again
the dog stopping to sniff
me straining to see
Mother spinning above
Mother spinning below
I know birds aren’t angels
but I get the message
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