Push your face into mine like a nesting bird
summer two baby raccoons on the side of the road
asleep in the morning, split open by noon
as bumblebees tumbled over weeds in the garden
and diesel spilled in the driveway.
A spring hawk tweedles, chatters on
rust-brown through the trees,
food forgotten, as if she could ever forget,
how we sat quiet in a simulated Himalayan wind-tunnel
she was still,
her long black hair and soft brown feathers
watching the grass,
then she struck --
my mom's best friend
painting with her favorite red.
(push your face into mine like a nesting bird summer two baby raccoons on the side of the road asleep in the morning split open by noon as bumblebees tumbled over weeds in the garden and diesel spilled in the driveway a spring hawk tweedles chatters on rust-brown through the trees food forgotten as if she could ever forget how we sat quiet in a simulated Himalayan wind-tunnel she was still her long black hair and soft brown feathers watching the grass then she struck we watched her through the window)
