Barn Owl Feather

Tom — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 00:30:01 +0000

I can still smell the owl on the feather.
We speculate, reaching with our noses,
Whether it smells more like cat or dog.
It is owl, of course,
But we are not used to smelling birds.
I have smelled chickens,
And the body of a wren
(warm in my hands
a mouse of a bird:
i kept its wings for medicine
and now they are following me
knowing i know their secrets
better than most.)

I smell the owl in my dream.
The smell of the owl is now the most
Important thing in the world.
The smells of the flowers are full of it;
The smell of the day and the night.
In the morning, when I wake,
I smell the the owl;
As I doze in the afternoon,
The smell of the owl
Rises from the pillow
Caresses my sleep with
Feathered fingers of gliding,
Hunting and silence.

The owl is hunting me,
Who stole its feather
And smelled its forbidden scent.
I pray that it finds me
And hunts my unknown body
From the madness of this world
Without woods.

Coyopa :: Lightning in the Blood » wrens

Barn Owl Feather