Night Fields

Owl does not bring down death With a doctor's pills, or a surgeon's glinting knife She falls from a height with a cruel and a careless grace, With an outspread wing and a Pierrot's chalk white face. She floats in her feathered robes, a forest queen Falls with the curving claws of her talons poised Down through the moonlight onto her quivering prey. Her collar-bone is white as bloodless stones The air whistles and keens around her wings Her soul is gloomy, her eyes inscrutable As tomb stones with the lettering worn off The lust of hunger drives us, one and all The spur to fuel the flesh for one more day