I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

The Hawk

One day, a hawk flew into the warehouse.
Everyone worked slower after they heard
and asked when they passed each other,
"have you seen the hawk?"

There's a pair of wild eyes watching
from the iron beams in the ceiling,
and the whole building becomes new.
You watch the ceiling for the hawk.

When I finally saw it, I had almost
stopped looking for it. But I looked up
once more and saw it perched
on the red rafter before it dove down.

It sailed like a wraith and I felt
my chemistry coil up in my flesh
and go sour when it wouldn't take hold.
Then the hawk flew back up and disappeared.

2 comments:

Pat Paulk said...

Hawks are my favorite bird!! Without "wild eyes" we melt into steel and glass. Like this Eric!!

Rod said...

I love the feeling of transformation brought by the hawk. This is great stuff!