cry for the hawk
Don't cry for the hawk,
the sky's daughter;
beloved of the wind,
she's at home in the place
she was born for,
the life that she knows,
there's no other.
Don't cry for the hawk
you could never see
the world through her eyes;
She soars ever-watchful
tenaciously clinging
to heights she has clawed
on her own, and each day
she will give it her strength,
her reason for being.
You watch her and dream of
possession, encounter --
a sign of her having seen;
brushed by sky,
in colors of silence,
watchfulness, solitude.
Don't cry for the hawk
she knows she's bounded
by time and by circumstance
much more than you --
Feeling the passage of seasons,
each new day giving
herself to the sky
will she know
the last time she'll ascend,
will tomorrow
still bring her the heights
she's achieved in her prime,
will the wind hold her gently
her world forgive her
for weakness,
for mornings seen weary,
for prey she'd forsake
and taking for granted
those lonely spirals descending,
her strength her salvation --
She can't soar so slow
as to see you crying for her.
© Jonathan Bohrn (1999) |
