Hawk At My Window

By John I. Blair

The window, look!
A tawny shape,
A beak, a hawk.
She fakes repose,
Pretends at ease;
But silence cold
Holds memories
Of clutching claws
And hacking hook.
My sunny deck,
Where feeders full
Lull scolding wrens
And pudgy doves –
Her dining nook.

©2008 John I. Blair