The emptiness of the Hawk’s heart

Must allow it to soar higher.

A silhouette cut from grey sky

Glides above a

Murky parking lot

This cold morn.

 

A flock of gulls,

Weighed down by

The multitude,

Flail and squawk without grace.

The hawk floats above the noise.

Alone.

 

In the distance black trees reach,

Strain their roots, and

Bend away from this cold earth.

Branches raised

In a vain optimism

That life will change.

 

The world of life has been

Left behind.

The hawk has had enough.

He lifts, beats the damp air,

And rises.

Alone.