The Hawk Kitchen 6:25pm
Oh! Did I startle Him —
that Miracle of Life
singing so heartily
from His top branch
of scrub spruce — ?
The Hawk Portico 5:03pm
I thrive on The Sounds
of The Birds
especially when I hear
nothing else
but the not-so-far-off shore
of Hawk Inlet
I am released
of all other
concerns
I live through the countless calls
of Avian Wildlife
singing into My Cells
regenerating
My Issuance
of Life
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:08pm
I remember clearly
that sinking feeling
of having no choice but to lie down
on a couch or bed
for want of Living Life
where I covered My Self
with a blanket or Afghan
knitted by My Mother-in-law
to take as some form
of comfort
to get through
an endless day
out of weeks
months
years
Notes from an art school project, titled “Guts” circa 1983
Oesophagus, Stomach — flesh-coloured satin
Pancreas — textured yellow
Gallbladder — green
Liver — purple satin
Small Intestine — 20 feet white tubular satin, stuffed
Large Intestine, Rectum — flesh-coloured satin, gathered
Heart — heart-shaped red velvet pillow, white feather-trimmed
suspended above
The Hawk Portico 4:08pm
I have sung a song
of birdsong
with the splutter of The Grackle
the warble of The Flicker
the squawk of The Jay —
numerous calls go unidentified
but are backed up
by The Willet, Crow and Gull
All to My Hamlet
by My Favourite Sea
where I live out My Rhythm
with The Little Chickadee
The Hawk Outpost 9:41am
I am standing in The Light
of Our Decorated Star
squinting My Eyes
against Its Brightness
The Glass Door is open
not to let Me out
but to let The Song
of The Morning Birds
Culminate
The Hawk Dining Room NOON
The Liquid Silver Off The Breakers
Before They Break
Holds My Eye
In Mid-sentence
Holds My Heart
In Sublime Suspense
The Hawk Outpost 10:15am
Sun — I guess It’s Sun —
filters through the fog
of a spring morning
I am in My Grey
C2 Rowing Outfit
Hunter is sleeping late
Eliza is on Her Way
to fun
& fame
The Hawk Queen Bed 9:44pm
I have written words
I have painted pictures
I have never sung a song
Has there been enough
of Me?
When will The World stop
to assess My Persona
d’Artiste Extraordinaire
Who has yet to live
to Her Fullest Capacity
under the guise
of —
nothing
