The Hawk Cry

I hear the hawk cry–
shoot-up from bed
in dream-state amazement
follow the haunting
high-pitched call
to the window.

The hawk cry–
respite from
urban clatter
car horns
erupting voices
my blurred vision
scans towering walls
of brick.

I hear the hawk cry again–
follow the sound.
Our existence
to each other
not seen
refuge exists
in dawn’s shadows
my spirit lifts
with this early morning
wake-up call.

In this hard-edged
the was hawk cry
nearly forgotten.
I stumble back to bed
and drift-off
to memories
of found feathers and
days silently watching
hawks riding on wind.
By Dresden Holden