in good hands

i was late, and had spent too long
watching the owl patrolling
his sensitive lands
that are twitchy and remote from mine.

for hours it seemed
i’d watched him in ghost shapes
flicker over unseen prey
of moles or shrews.

moles or shrews.

the dusk scents had gone
leaving the residual heat of the day
in the bark, in the welcome dark
engraved on my flesh.

the cold brook was at my left.
and the open field on my right
and in the wealthy darkness
this tiny world of mine
became illuminated by a giant eye.

i could see what he could see
i could taste his tastes,

but i could not commit myself to flight
my ungainly human limbs, again.
listen

there is someone out there.
there is someone out there.

crouched down
felt it crawling in my skin
is it faith?
is this what faith is?

am i in good hands?

in good hands

uncleblack

Joined February 2010

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  • © Karin Taylor
  • uncleblack
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