Yesterday a red shouldered hawk sat on my fence
his yellow talons gripping the black rail,
and I wondered why he stopped beside me
beside the window an arm’s breadth away
where we could peer at each other, see ourselves
in each other’s eyes, imagine the wingspan of our flight.
Was it I who visited his morning or he who visited mine
or in this season of rolling warm summer we were accidently met?
I will say this: in his sharp sight I saw the day as possibility
and the night as a ribbon between his beak. I saw flight
and rest as ways of living on the earth, and the space
between us only a matter of where the sun stood
lighting our eyes, recognizing our gaze while the grass
lay wet from the early hour and the trees breathed awake.
Mary Lautzenhiser Bellon