Therefore, this afternoon, as never before, I walk
with this owl, with this heart.
   César Vallejo

In a summer barn, she
sleeps in the warm smells
of creosote on oak, of the oiled
leather tackle and the hay.
Waiting for the slowly approaching
dusk, elated flight.

You see her appear
and perch on a branch
near your home, and hunt
for food; for mice, lizards,
or the cold flesh of
nights that pass

with a desperate killing.
Blood flows
from the arteries of darkness;
the unending redemption of night.

Bird Of Prey by J. Kyle Kimberlin
is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs
3.0 Unported License.