Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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As the plane descends, its shadow runs
ahead, widens, spreading like a bruise,

one wing slanted toward the lit
and lettered gates below, and I remember

the hanging circles of a hawk
above the rocks, a vole or squirrel caught

in talons, beating the air. The creature
doesn’t see the massive wingspan cast

its image below: a stingray coasting
slowly, closely, over uneven ground.

The prey cannot see its shadow
held inside the hawk’s, or know its captor

as a deepening of water,
a darkening of rocks, or an eclipse

that wanders; cannot fear the far-off
nest—but only senses rushing air,

only knows the angled fall.  end  

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