Here & Now
I feel but cannot hear the downward beat
of the owl's wings which seem to move
like a poem on feathered air.
She draws to herself the half-colours of predawn
and holds still the forest
in a raptured last embrace of dark.
Even the sun in awe of the night
stands timeless and veiled
for the last benediction of flight.
Comments about this poem (Here & Now by Patrick Dennis )
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