The Hawk

A late night book
burning into her eyes

It must have been
too dark
to notice
the open window
the hawk folding its wings
the billowing curtain

It must have been
a dream
she saw
the human arms
and legs
the face like hers
under soft mottled feathers

He the falconer
she held by the josses

In the morning
the air crept in
made the curtain dance
around her chair
she sat alone
her hand cupped
over her stomach:
an egg in a nest