Hawk, Psych! [Free Verse]

the hawk's head-shifts are precise
and follow in rapid succession...
and then cease

it lifts one feather at a time
as if sniffing its pits

it shifts from talon to talon,
and then once more

it seems to be settling in,
getting comfortable 
for a long stakeout...

and then it's gone,
diving off the ledge,
disappearing into the city valley

POEM: Raptor Rising [Sonnet]

A raptor climbs: it spirals higher and higher,
and what a chunk of world it must now see.
What’s it like to be that vanishing flyer?
Does it feel fear, or does it glide with glee?

It fears like one who knows not what could be.
Like Icarus, it’s naïve of the Fall?
It must know (but not care,) to be that free!
There’s not a chance its flapping wings will stall,

and still less that it will be downed by squalls.
I envy hawks, but could not live their life —
to test air that couldn’t fill my lungs at all
and climb to heights, yet not know any strife.

Oh climb, my Raptor, ride upon thin air,
and when you reach the earth, I’ll meet you there.

POEM: Like a Hawk

I watch the hawks —
watching me watching them —
and wonder how many of them I don’t see.

They’re better watchers:
-more patient
-less swayed by boredom.

They stand, cloaked, as if in judgement —
Chief Justice of this street,
roving eyes in search of
one false move.

They are literal swoopers.
I’ve been accused of “swooping in,”
but I’m — at best — a figurative swooper.

Watch, swoop, catch, repeat…