Written by
Patricia Lang
January 2020

The cliff’s edge, wind stirring the Hawk’s “disposition”, wild catwalk – haggard!

To study peaks, valleys, smells, the air – sensory data that Hawk gathered.

Stepping into SQUAWK, traffic, crosswalk – the woman’s demeanor was ragged.

Contemplating the frock, GAWK, the details in a tree– to her, that mattered.

The Mockingbird… stalking, scolding… metaphor -- extended gray “dagger”;

No boardwalk, but a thick wire, the Hawk sat (perched), as the Mockingbird’s “scabbard.”

Dancing with the Universe all her life (KNOCK, KNOCK) the lady is battered.

Still restless: nowadays she walks at night – with her cat – a new dance pattern.

Circling UP the Thermal, long air vent – does the Hawk instinctively swagger?

While meditating, watching this aerial ballet, my thoughts soon scatter.

A slight Sparrow Hawk hides within – sparse bush – urban streets (knacker?) none sadder.

Until – WHOOSH – around the building into the high tree: did the Hawk stagger?

At the cliff’s edge, her key in the lock, mirror shattered, nothing matters…

She leaps - the Void – blue skies, white clouds dissemble – a Hawk touring Dream’s Tavern.

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