All thinking stop
for a moment, at least,
so I might look this owl in his pitch black
eyeball of shine and sorrow and
ask him please,
to show me where he lives
tree hole lined
with tuft of squirrel
with mouse pelt
with feathers plucked from
softest bellies
of Chickadee and Nuthatch,
Robin and Wren,
perhaps even a pillow of
Hummingbird down
my binoculars follow
your broad winged flight
of swoop and swift
and gratitude, gratitude,
lifts my heart, it aches
in this moment of distraction
– Deborah Davidovits
Deborah Davidovits lives on the edge of the woods in Beacon NY. She spends her time making art, writing, tending to her bees and teaching children who are deaf and hard of hearing. http://www.deborahdavidovits.com