Interior Light

Window at Sunset


On the street and lying
in snow is an owl not yet fully white
with no apparent mangling, just dead,
as if reminded of something more pressing
and now stiff. I kick it over.

Out our window there is nothing
but water nothing but paper
nothing but sky and then only
nothing but sky until my mind
sharp and curved as a raven
dives back to the earth.

These fragile wings.
Knots of wind, sudden sheer
panes in our path.
The window is now more fully blue,
the balance has shifted
I notice and it is now
the interior
that casts the greater light.

-from Hollow Out