where the writers are
The Owl

The Owl

What is she thinking of
when I look up and see her,
wings spread far apart,
her feet about to grasp
a branch high above?

She lands and arranges
her feathers, tucks her head.
She has white feathers
and views of the Palisades.
I have the dream of snow

falling at night over half
of Independence Avenue.
I stand on the threshold
under the street lamp, one side
of my body covered with flakes,

and think about good and evil,
the point where one is distinct

from the other.



Copyright © 2011 Sarah Stern All rights reserved
from Another Word For Love
Finishing Line Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission