In this place, raddled with vermin, small
nocturnal feeders, beady-eyed things with tails,
I am king of the night
As dusk thickens I glide, wings spread,
claws curled, neck feathers flattened
along the wind’s tree-top path.
I make less rustle than leaves,
am less visible at this height.
They may not notice me at all
Owl eyes can see the field’s edge, the deep
wood world. I see dinner on four tiny legs.
I am slow and smooth. Then swift and sure.
The thrill of the downward swoop,
claws extended, feathers swept back,
eyes fixed, is what I was born for…