Hawk

Like a dancer floats above the stage,
Glides o'er thespians on hairlike stings,
Like Peter Pan, perhaps, softly alights,
On window sill, folding arms like wings,
Effortless, guileless, glide through the blue,
Your cry echoes long as the siren sings,
Drawing breath from me.

Your wings flit aside stale drafts of air,
Poised seraph on the breath of the wind,
Mobile-immobile, as if painted on clouds,
With back-lit wingspan, the sun has limned,
To eyes sky pining for your graceful glide,
A sight that raises the down and chagrined,
Drawing awe from we.

And a blink transforms thee, angel to fury,
Wisps of chilled breath as talons extend,
Oblivious oblivion fate the rat or the hare,
Plummeting kill and with prey you ascend,
Then shortly resume, sacral and ethereal,
Painting sky as your cry will ever  portend,
Drawing fear, in love, to be.