Moonlight reflects
from snow-encrusted surfaces,
bounces a single
immense shadow
up to the side of the barn.
I watch the moving silhouette
of some large owl, species
uncertain, but make simple
identification from the turret-
turning of its head.
It bends low over
the snow, listening to something
there beneath. I hold
my breath, as if I too might
hear it, some small thing
tunneling invisibly
between the smothered
blades of grass. I hold
my breath, I am become
like owl, a hunger
and this listening
is all there is.
In response to/inspired by Dave Bonta’s “Early” and Luisa A. Igloria’s “Landmarks.”