Motionless but for a revolving head, waiting
palely, a faint outline in the brooding darkness suddenly rends the air with a psycho scream,
penetrating, threatening.
——
A ghostly flight as it sweeps the ground
waiting silently, a sentinel of the dying light,
seeking the future through scampering feet,
blood for a scavenger’s brood.
——/
White against the starlit sky she prowls,
listening and arguing her rights to voles and creatures scuttling through shifting grass,
leaving her organic waste.
——/
Perched in the rafters of the blacknight barn,
searching eyes for a mouse, farm fresh food,
feeling the affinity with hard pressed farmers
she bides, a spirit of grace.
——-
Harmony of flight and a soul of lost moments,
she lifts her wings in prayer to a quiet God
and eyes shut, roosts in the crumbling tower of
a once watching church.
