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
Don Gray Art • Poems