The Red Tails lift and glide above me,
circling our gather within oak trees, chemise
and fractured granite that hasn’t moved

for centuries on this mountain. One of few
humans they know, I have wished
upon their wings and eye, like a falconer,

to inform, to lead me to what I can’t see
grazing peacefully. Someday, maybe—
or resort to drones to do my bidding,

watch the calving, check feed and water,
be on patrol for coyotes and bears,
instead of me. But who would we be,

streaming sci-fi cowboy poetry? Who
would ever know enough to welcome us
into this other world, their home?




  1. Superb poem, John. My affinity for hawks is second only to that for herons.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.