Poem By Gabriel Rosenstock

The streamlined feathers of the owl
ensure the silence of its approach,
a silent glide between
one unknown and another
and the woodland mice and insects
are filled with terror
before this beak, this claw of the night.

Like an owl you come to me
tearing at me -
I waken, abruptly
and there is nothing
nothing at all staring at me
only the confused memory
of a kiss
gliding into obscurity
on the wind.

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