Falcon

Kek-kek-kek-kiak Kek-kek-kek-kiak Sky-high on his cross of air, His war cry, a dry clack, Like an ack-ack gun. Canyons of cloud above my probing stare, The tiercel is circling the wood Like a steel trap, poised to snap. I am drawn by his lure, Small tiger of the Heavens, Hook-beaked spitfire splitting The creamy silk of a summer's day, Slitting the wind, Winged scythe of a lightning fork His taloned gauntlets Spear through sheers of cloud, A break-neck stoop His guillotine swoop Swift as a hit-man's kill In down town world, New York. Hedgerows are bulldozed. Cities nest in woods. Badger, and fox's home's a superstore. A mortgaged temple of glass and masonry Suburbs are serving writs through the peat bog door. Habitats perish when mankind leads the pack Precious, the falcon's call, Kek-kek kiak