Hawk in Early Spring
by Royce Sykes
From weathered fence post, slightly askew,
than green; her rising kaleidoscopic waltz
seems muted; heat of the sun, a mere crawl;
young hawk stretches wings, then launches
into slow skim over field whose scent upon
the dew dropping breeze is still more loam
of white, brown and gold blurs into smudge
against an otherwise unmarked sky; lacking
boundaries to pace in restless echo, sound
until shriek shivers the air as hawk falls,
stooping to her kill; I am oddly comforted
to remember winter will come again this year.
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