Peregrina, Poem by Stan Petrovich

I fly over the wooded creek
Always a friend to seek.
There he is, a man, an archetypical Hermit,
Living off the land
Hard & bold
No matter how cold

See is no pretender
He controls the fire
Into which embers glow like ire
By my winds fanned:
I do not understand

I am destined to be a guest
In his little wooden house
Traipse in there
To catch a mouse
He plays cards and holds a deuce
He blinks at me
I swivel my head & blink back- -
Like in the Exorcist, no excuse...
No humdrum meaning