The Hawk West Desk Window 7:57pm
Tonight I had to throw out
Our entire supper of fish
to the gulls and crows
— it was tainted —
and then in a fit
of generosity
I threw out Our bread
best by today
and three English muffins
dated March 18th
The Hawk Portico 3:15pm
I am like a Big Italian Woman
leaning on bare elbows
out an open window
surveying Her Neighbourhood —
does She hear The Birds
as She nods to Her Neighbours
& watches Children on bicycles?
The Hawk Outpost 10:26am
I Lift My Life Glass
To The Silver On The Water
& Watch As One Gull Flies By
Within The Breadth Of A Dappling
Of Cloud
A Fishing Boat On The Horizon
Shimmers In The Mix
Of My Sea
& Sky
&
I
Drink
The Hawk Deck 10:46am
I’m on The Knife Edge Of Happiness
I could whine & have My Doctor Husband
stay home from work
with Me
but We would only talk
circuitously
I would still hear the birds
only through My anxious
stomach
The Hawk Outpost 5:15pm
A Springtime Haze
lies East over the water
— I will not be seeing
The Ocean this evening —
but I have just seen
A Flock Of Six Geese
— at least I think
They were Geese —
flying along the shore
against The Light
of The Sun
in transit
The Hawk Queen Bed 11:40am
Do We Own The Peepers
In Our Muskrat Pond?
Do We Own The Birds
Upon Our Lawn?
–
The Mourning Dove Upon A Wire
Is In My View
And My Desire
–
I May Claim The Waves
In My Broad Reach
And Walk Along Their Salty Beach
–
Yet All I Love
In What Surrounds
Holds Me Close
Within Its Bounds
The Hawk Portico 1:57pm
Birdsong is The Sound of Life
with Ocean as a backdrop
I sit in Sanctuary
The End To Strife
and wait Here
for The World to Stop
The Hawk Deck NOON
The Vista Of My Mind
is an endless one —
There Is No Horizon
I am emanating
The Juice Of Life
I have come This Far
to regulate
to undulate
to populate
and I will stay Here
until The Chickadee
calls Me
Home
The Hawk Deck 11:27am
The Morning is Alive
with Birdsong
I can’t identify
except for The Chickadees
& Jays
I Am Here Today
Today
Today
The Hawk Window Seat 2:44pm
I Took My Shower
@ 2:22
I Was in There
For Untold Minutes, Hours, Days
I Am Still There
Rubbing My Eyes
Like A Child
Who Sees The Spray
Of The Universe
Joanna Gilman Hyde 