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Michael H. Levin: Poems and Prose
FALCONS
Let loose the falcons
let their jesses fly
their fierce wings cast no shadows
in a sunless sky
their yellow glares
click swiftly through
steep stoops -- the dive, the deadly
tear -- reflecting nothing
while absorbing all.
So actors float, then
swoop to seize small motions
that may body thought.
So artists fold their
wings and drop like stones
to pounce on transient
hues. So hunger fuels
those flights that yearn
to enter other lives
and see with different sight:
a risky game where hunters
can be prey and feathered
death is turnabout, fair
play. Reminders that when
streaking back towards lures
and resting hoods we may
go missing; burn up
like the phoenix; or by chance
announced by ankle-bells
return.
From Falcons (July 2020)
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