Hawk Iii Poem by Morgan Michaels

Gradually, though, I relaxed,
realizing the creature's downy back was toward me:
that it couldn't see into the room, anyway,

couldn't see me on my tiger-striped couch
legendary eyesight despite
or if it could, had better things to see-
and, fearless, fell asleep and dreamt of wings-
spans and spans of them, dark and manifold,
so many, linked, they darkened the sky.

When I awoke, remembering the hawk
I looked out the window to the same spot.
It was gone-perhaps to another appointment,
or maybe South, but anyhow, gone, gone.