A Buzzard and Me

 A Childhood Memory


Sailing on a golden galleon

on a sea of towering waves. Captain perched high

on a bogey load of bales, new saved wheaten straw

drawn on Blacklands lane. The cry of a the winged hunter

circling high above. Buzzard drawn down by the smell

of carrion blood, a feast of rodents fallen

to the oscillating blade.


I level a revolver

made of dreams and air, draw a bead of wonder

on the raptor flying there, so drawing her down close

tingling skin and hair. Then she’s there. Cruel eye to eye

Obsidian and flashing gold, riding air, just her and I,

For that moment I was she and she was me

And I felt the breathe of wind sing

As it flowed over beating wings

And then she was gone

back on high

I was no more

an eagle,

just a





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