Owl Evening...A Poem

Hawk of the night, the large owl,

Bat-like in shadowy flight,

Flaps and glides past cactus silhouette

To baritone hoot, with energetic lurch,

Atop a riding-arena light pole perch.

The western sky is sunset orange,

Moon half a brilliant vanilla pie.

From a distant eucalyptus tree,

The syncopated, tenor trill

Of what must be a smaller owl.

Gothic-spire saguaros lift toward moon and sky.

All things turn to weighty mass and mystery.

Detail ebbs in loss of light

Forced by cat-soft fist of night,

Like arms-backed diplomatic might.

Houses flank their gleaming pane

Stolen from the burned-out sun.

A high and distant plane,

White light borrowed from the moon,

the first star of coming night

on a steadfast southward flight.

Copyright by Don Gray