He calls across the draw to his beloved.
How are you-ou-ou, you-ou-ou?
Her higher voice answers: Goo-oo, oo-ood! Goo-oo, oo-ood!
Call-and-response or conversation
Owls singing or owls talking
Owls owning the forest.
He flew, once, to a tree at the corner of my deck.
I found him in the binoculars, huge and gorgeous.
No-oh, oh-oh! No-oh, oh-oh!
He glared at me through the glass,
Yellow eyes piercing my spying ones.
No-oh, oh-oh! No-oh, oh-oh!
Another night, however, he honored me
Convening his parliament outside my bedroom
Politicking: hoo-hoo, hoo-hoot! Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoot!
A house of lords, a duma, an althingi, a chamber of deputies.
Moo-oo, oo-ooved. Moo-oo, oo-ooved.
Bards telling their tales
Scheherazade storytellers
A convention of preachers
Or a gossip of neighbors
Who-who, who-who? Who-who, who-who?
I saw him, once, in daylight, fly through the forest
Silent, swift, and sure through the tight tangle of trunks
Wingtips and branches never colliding
Like a waltzing couple whirling through dancers
Swift and sure, never colliding.
I wish I could know his language.
The meaning of those inflections and tones.
I wish we could talk, he in the tree, I at the window.
I would ask him how he lives
His patterns and habits, loves and losses.
Who-who are you? Who-who are you?
No comments:
Post a Comment