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American Kestrel..

American Kestrel..

This morning
the hawk
rose up
out of the meadows browse
and swung over the lake...
it settled
on the small black dome
of a dead pine,
alert as an admiral,
its profile
distinguished with sideburns
the color of smoke...
and I said, remember
this is not something
of the red fire, this is
heaven's fistful
of death and destruction...
and the hawk hooked
one exquisite foot
onto a last twig
to look deeper
into the yellow reeds...

Mary Oliver..
an excerpt from her poem "Hawk"
1991