On the Ground at the Window

A white face circled like a nun’s,

brown eyes staring, the prominent nose

ends in a pink hook of a bill, a thin

dark line descends from the brow,

heart-round head, speckled shoulders,

mottled cream torso wing wrapped

above curled feet, the head thrusting

onward into the night making way

each wingstroke taking it farther

until the way ends, until struck

it falls into flowers, their green stalks.

This way Susan, struck, fell,

an invisible wall ended her as well.
Children asked for the owl to bury.

How lonely each of us every day.