Barn Owl


curving over the darkening field

caressing the low contour slung

insolently over the colding rock

she grazes my fading sight

too real to be a ghost

too strange to be a friend

before fixing on the scraping sound of scurrying legs.



The Owl-Shadow


as the winter gathers strength

a branch too heavy to lift lies

at the head of the valley

a man intent on sleeping

listens to the wall silence

of the dying day

soon enough it passes

in a flapping half

remembered second

of a distant dusk

the owl-shadow hawks.