Spending Time

Scattered shattered shards of mirrors Sparkle in dissipating smoke A hungry hawk crisscrosses the darkening field Searching for supper in the dead winter weeds A single cloud caught in lower winds speeds across the slower mass above To disappear like some magic trick Directly in front of the setting sun. Last night four deer browsed beside us We wait patiently sipping the last flute Three each per sunset and no hurry This is our time.