Goshawk

Goshawk

goshawk
you devil
I passed this place not an hour ago
and this flat of grey feathers
was not there
I am certain.

the wind has not yet disturbed
its perfect ellipse
a fall of clean and perfect
primaries
curled contours
a speck of bird blood

and this
just outside my window
and myself oblivious.

I saw it happen once
a mourning dove
washing-up in a white pine

the goshawk gliding silently
hooked a twig and lifted wings
so landing would not trouble the branch

then stepping hunched
long steps along the branch
ridiculously close to the oblivious dove

a tiny puff
and no skirmish.

the goshawk flapped noisily from needles' cover
hovered beside the pine for a moment
struggling flipping grey cloud attached

floated to the ground
did something final and muffled
the dove stilled.

the goshawk flapped easily away
over the cornfield
trailing feathers.