Red-Tailed Hawk

A shadow swoops

spine shiver, head duck.

The hawk glides, dives quicksilver amongst pines,

between buildings, in frosty meadow that becomes

the valley of death. His shadow

darkens the sun-glitter snow, eclipses

weak winter light

for slow field mice, round squirrels. Godlike,

hungry mercurial messenger

carries inspiration, expiration on his wings.

Between white breaths, still as death,

I watch and wait.