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If the Owl Calls Again by John Haines

at dusk
from the island in the river,
and it's not too cold,

I'll wait for the moon
to rise,
then take wing and glide
to meet him.

We will not speak,
but hooded against the frost
soar above
the alder flats, searching
with tawny eyes.

And then we'll sit
in the shadowy spruce
and pick the bones
of careless mice,

while the long moon drifts
toward Asia
and the river mutters
in its icy bed.

And when the morning climbs
the limbs
we'll part without a sound,

fulfilled, floating
homeward as
the cold world awakens.


K.C. said...

To see life from a completely different perspective... gotta wonder sometimes what the other creatures are thinking...

I think if we all did that...about each other. What a better world it would be. KC

Antonionioni said...

Caught up with your recent selections. Must admit I can't recall hearing of John Haines but this was most enjoyable, as were the Anna Akhmatova and Grumilyov poems.

Wordcrafter said...

Thanks KC and Tony, it gives me great pleasure to share my favourites and or new discoveries with others, and glad you enjoyed it.

cbb said...

Oh, Wordcrafter. You cannot know what this poem means to me. What a journey an Owl set me on. Thank you.

I just love your selection of poems...