The Hawk Portico 4:08pm
How many dead souls
can be attached to one
Butterfly?
No one near to Me has died
recently
yet there before My Stoop
flitted One for the taking
like The Birds
Who go unadorned
with such heraldry
The Hawk Portico 6:40pm
The Jays Have The Propensity
To Call Me Away To My Childhood
Raised By A Single Mother
On Top Of A Hilly One Acre
In Woods Of Birdsong
& Blind Man’s Bluff
The Hawk Queen Bed 7:35am
I Hear The Surf Surge Through
My Open Black Window
& One Solitary Fog Horn Echoing
As If It Were Six
The Hawk Queen Bed 6:30pm
I Am A Baby
In A Bassinet On A Beach
How Many Of Us Have Been Born On The Surging Crest?
How Many Of Us Will Die Upon The Ebb?
I Am Rocked To Sleep
By The Rhythm
I Am Awakened
To My Infancy
The Hawk Portico 3:00pm
The Signalling Call Of The Gull
Is To Alert Others
But That I Too Hear It
Must Mean, Momentarily,
That I Am In An Exchange
Of
Ear
And
Voice
Pubnico, NS 10:22am
I am driving Home
A New Message
there — I see that tree I remember
I climbed It as a little kid
& now It is The Mighty Oak
Out There I See The Ocean
with tidal flats before
I hear The Waves
high under The Full Moon
pushing Me onward
to The Self
I think I know
so well
The Hawk Deck 10:17am
The Waves sing out to Me
while Our Coffee steeps
Hunter is feeding the cats
I will check My Rooftop Views
@ 10:22
–
The Hawk Queen Bed 10:57am
The Surf is to The South
coming through Our Bedroom Windows
while We sit, legs stretched out
drinking second cups of coffee
on Our Hawk Queen Bed
with a solitary cat —
one of six —
resting between Us
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:00pm
I stand in a shaft of sun
drinking from My Silver-frosted
Chalice of Life
I stop to look
at just what I am
consuming
I see The Earth
The Potency of Life
quivering
in My Well-oiled
Grip
The Hawk Deck 12:22pm
When I Drink Water
From My Chalice Of Life
I See The Bottom
Of My Glass
As A Fertilized Egg
Cradled
By My Little Finger
Joanna Gilman Hyde 