Hawk's Heart
I walk along this familiar field, barrenBut for first sprouts of winter wheat.
Above me a great gray hawk glides and eyes
My intrusion, watching, waiting for his prey
To break and run before the fall of my boots,
More afraid of the man than of the hawk.
I am not his prey, but he the predator I dream:
To be pinned to this ground by piercing eyes;
To welcome fierce talons and bidden beak;
To be lifted and soar, and see as he sees
And feel the very air bending to his will.
To let loose my tired and hurting heart
And become the heart of the hawk itself,
Joined in a pure and perfect purpose.
This the death I desire, the resurrection I seek.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2011-03-22 at 15:09
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