1/5/14

Today I sat on a rock,
surrounded by oak and pepper trees
splayed like a errant hand
and watched a hawk
dip and turn into the brush,
silent as time. 

He returned in one motion,
claws clutching a stunned
squirrel - it's tail pinwheeling
against the backhand slap blue
of the sky. 

He made a meal of the rodent
on an oak branch above my head,
intestines spattering the rock
like heiroglyphs.

If I could read them, I think
they might say something
about temporality,

If I could read them
I might dissappear.