The Laws of Love

What song did the hawk of the golden oak sing that day?
Does it matter? Could we say the oak was silver and be done?
What if it were not a hawk but a blue-jay?
What if no one was there to know if it was a golden-eagle hawk?
Should I walk down to the creek and listen? Observe?
Maybe it’s Winter and I’m cold. Maybe it’s Autumn and I can walk all night.
If I forget myself will I hear the music of birds on a night like this?
Sometimes my mind wanders over stones and bones of old thoughts.
I think I hear one now. Hawk, blue-jay, or thought?
She shut the light off. Now I’m warm. Who cares about thoughts or hawks?
In the nest of her belly I slip into amnesia’s skin. I dream with golden eyes.

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

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