|
| |
Hawk Ascending
This day-shine has a wine glass for every atom.
A great pond of light floods a crystalline skyscape.
Here in a wind-turned clarity
glints of a lantern-etched lucidity
take substance and form.
Clearly, only elemental spirits
could have conjured such, with their innate power
to engrave the invisible.
Looking back, I see, stamped into feature,
a flight, a bolt of breathing, hawkish tinder.
Over my shoulder, swift unfurled talons
seem to seize the bare and leaping air,
only then, do I spy a prey
wriggling into one last appearance
as wings arrow upwards.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
|
|