A Stoop is Close to a Fall
I
She was not his hawk
None but her own
And preyed upon herself
With talons shredding
No soft hands or arms
but wings spreading
in down swirling push
could not pull her free
To bend the air
Under her and bear,
The weight of death away
To someday when her talons
Were busy with other prey
II
It was the words that made her stay
Words have spaces
leaving ragged canyons
between sounds
Her fury was not enough
To carry her over
Into the next headlong dive
Wings drawn back
She fell not flew
And struck the world
With such a force
As made trees strain and shiver
III
none could bury her
Just let her rise again
Now, she sees all fine, sharp
From the center bright skies
Noting every movement precisely
The rabbit under sagebrush
Quivering ever so slightly.
