That smooth oval body, compact, /

plumage dark, dappled, seamless, /

talons gripping the backyard fence, /

scimitar head a slow swivel /

searching for mice in leaf duff. //

Imagine those hollow bones /

that make flight easy, light. /

Hawk waits, patience its profession. Then /

lifts off, that grand transformation–/

a winged thing, gone.