With thanks to my heart-sister Diane Driver, who shared this with me. Remember – poetry is the world’s oldest form of magickal spell, and is meant to be read aloud.
by Connie Wanek
The gray owl had seen us and had fled
but not far. We followed noiselessly,
driving him from pine to pine:
I will not let thee go except thou bless me.
He flew as though it gave him no pleasure,
forcing himself from the bough,
falling until his wings caught him:
they had to stroke hard, like heavy oars.
He must have just eaten
something that had, itself, just eaten.
Finally he crossed the swamp and vanished
as into a new day, hours before us,
and we stood near the chest-high reeds,
our feet sinking, and felt
we’d been dropped suddenly from midair
back into our lives.
“A Sighting” by Connie Wanek, from
On Speaking Terms © Copper Canyon Press, 2010.