Redhawk Wildlife Preserve
After a life of nighttime dive bombings
by raptors large enough to block the sun,
last night, I was visited by a perfectly normal
red winged hawk. "Look," I said, "it's lovely."
No one noticed. It's prey was merely a small bird.
Hemlock branches shook and feathers shimmied out.
As it fought for its life, the bedraggled bird flew past
my hand, which held it, a moment,
keeping it, at least, from the hawk, who flew off.