– for Steve Abbott
Two wingspans, as though cleaved
on a strip of exposed bedrock:
russet bands, a kestrel, perhaps.
No flesh, no bone, a few tufts nearby.
A clean attack, turned awry?
Prey turned into prey?
A weasel emerges as a prime suspect.
All the same, everyone’s
gotta eat, sometime.
Mount Agamenticus, Maine
Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
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