Photo by Ryan Stone on Unsplash

Tiny life,
with black bead eyes
and a nervous sweep of whiskers

She enjoys the dawn,
remembering mouse-lore.
The owl went to sleep at moon-set.
Grass feels cool against her feet.
Her babies are snug in the nest
that’s lined with her fur.

She finds a kernel of grain,
plump and sweet.
Grubs are slow with night-chill.
She forgets mouse-lore.
The hawk rises with the sun,
and eyes watch as she moves through
a dew-strung world,
loving the cool of the morning.
Her babies are warm in the nest
that’s lined with her fur.

August 2005