If Jack were a bird

From the highest place, he watches.

His golden eyes search yellow fields

and know that they are better.

Glaring down, he threatens the expanse,

larger than him,

to catch fire; mottled are its lines

but sharp are the movements of small

and scared things within.

We are not defenseless, per say, but

helpless to him.

He springs, leaving the branch behind

shaking beneath the absence of his feet.

I do my best to dart, hoping, Dear God,

that he will catch me. That he'll pierce my belly

with his claws and soar away to devour me.

But still, I run, afraid of being torn apart again.

Safer it would be to hide in a snake hole, taking my

chances on its desertion, and if I am not alone,

then to die more quickly-- how sad,

though, to die today,

anywhere but in the sky.

Hawks can see at night, lamp light eyes cutting

through the dark haze of concentrated dusk.

but

he fears the caves so there I head, and there I wait.

For he loves open, familiar spaces,

and my new home holds beauty in its confinement.

These places hold ferocious morsels, the juiciest of us all.

This is what I will become, alone and yearning for him.

But why would he work for the best when he can easily

spear many of what he knows will

satisfy?

#nature #breakups #POETRY