The Hawk
A long red light with no traffic
keeps the car idling and anxious.
Across the highway, a cornfield
shows the collapse of autumn;
above, a hawk, wings fully
extended. Completely still.
No wing flap, no rise, no
dip, no flutter. Stillness.
The traffic light greens into
yellow, yellows into red.
Dimensions unravel.
Then, a waver. She steadies.
A hawk, perfectly aligned.