The Hawk Kitchen 6:57pm
From My Kitchen Glass Doors
I can consume The Western Light
scattered across The Grass
illuminating The Scraggly Apple
Scrub Spruce beyond
out to The Line of Blue Atlantic
trimmed with A Streak
of Warm Grey Cloud
caught
by The Golden Glow
and set before Me
on My Plate
The Hawk Basement 1:22pm
Last Night I had
A Poem in My Head
as I lay in My Warm Bed
too tired to rise & write It down
Is It trickling down through
The Remainder
of This Day
too as My Grandmother would say:
NOTHING IS LOST?
The Hawk Corner Room 5:38pm
Today I have seen The Face
of A Dear Boy, A Soulful Man
behind a wall of glass
as He rose to Meet Me
His is The Face
I am Reading, Reaching
to Touch His Expectant Eyes
to Hug His Hopeful Frame
to Hear His Questioning Words
Sincerely Conversant as I sit beside
Him, The Embodiment
of Our Purpose
The Hawk Corner Room NOON
Black Jesus Stands
In Her Vestment Of Liquid Silver
To Gaze Out Over
The Shimmering Sea
Of Our New Day
The Hawk West Desk Window 11:11pm
Black Jesus stood at Her Kitchen Sink
& looked down
into the slowly swirling soap film
on the surface of Her Casserole Dish
She was about to wash clean
She saw a collection of galaxies
swimming clock-wise
& right before Her EYEs
The Galaxies turned into Spermatozoa
& She decided not to wash
She left Her Station to eat A Piece Of Carrot Cake
& when She came back
She looked again —
Her Casserole contained
The Universe
The Hawk Queen Bed 10:45pm
God Bashed Me Over The Head
With The Shower Of Silver Lights
So That I Would Never Ever
Forget Him/Her/It/Them
ME!
The Hawk Corner Room 11:15am
Sitting in My Flannel Pyjamas
I can watch a Liquid Galaxy
glittering, sparkling, stretched long out
over The Atlantic
with a Mass of Stars as Its Center
and Diamond Iridescence out
over Its thinning Edges
The Hawk West Desk Window 3:50pm
The World No Longer Waits
For Me
I Am Here
Bearing Us On
My Broadened Shoulders
My Booted Feet
Braced Against Frozen Ground
As I Carry Every Loose
Timber To The Pile
Of Lumber Not For Burning
But For Building
The Hawk Kitchen 6:13pm
The Twigs Of The Scraggly Apple
Feel Their Way Up Toward The Eastern Blush
Of Sunset To My Back
The Top Branch Reaches A Cloud
— Fully Grey —
And Delineates My Future Comfort
In All Its Windy
Shivers
Joanna Gilman Hyde 