The Owl Quaver

The path was purple in the dusk.
I saw an owl, perched,
on a branch.In The Dusk

And when the owl stirred, a fine dust
fell from its wings. I was
silent then. And felt

the owl quaver. And at dawn, waking,
the path was green in the
May light.

From The Redshifting Web: Poems 1970-1998. Copyright © 1998 by

 

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