Hawk
A great pond of light
this day.
A wine glass for every atom.
Then in a turning draft,
lantern-etched and lucid,
a clear signature,
a thing only flame and water
could make with their power to
engrave light.
I looked back and saw
stamped into feature, a flight,
a bolt of breath, a hawkish tinder.
This morning, over my shoulder,
swift unfurled talons
seized the bare and leaping air.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment