I am at home in the wilderness
watching the town’s bustle from distant
vantage points beyond fellowship’s reach.
The tracery of forgotten streams
curves around me with a soft comfort,
heated by the indifferent sun.
Warm rising air lifts the outstretched wings
as, head still, the hawk watches, cold-eyed,
ready to pursue his dark ethic –
kill or starve. Here, sheltered from the truth
of connection, from love’s sand paper,
I can hover, cladded by stillness.