Pinned now to a glowing gaze
that waits on the bough.
Colder air crawls across
the balcony, but I’m still held
holding these small movements
in the barn owl’s stare.
Some animals are not regarded:
the squirrels shift as background
and we shadows lumber beneath
their trees. But the owl is a presence.
Maybe it’s the mere placement
of eyes, a face almost
that gleams the intelligence
of reach. Even from here
I note the subtle adjustments
to sight as it ponders and shifts
along the branch, seeing me.
Maybe it’s mere impatience,
waiting for my absence
so it can lunge again
at the frightened mind
shielded by the bush.
Maybe there is nothing,
just a space floating between
two similar, unknown faces
that cannot be articulated,
at least not yet. One of us
disappears, and the other
returns to moment.

Written for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt.

8 thoughts on “Trying

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