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.