One of mine I wrote


In the wooly tethers of the pine steep

Be still the red-tail hawk nigh winter’s sleep

Influx his neighbor kin betwixt snowfall

Who drift on the same wind with wingspan small

To prey, thou heresy bird’s dreams do diverge

And now no longer yearns to nurse such urge

Forlorn in shadows leaps his perch to soar

amidst his kind, whom below him abhor