hawks and doves
it was no coincidence that you crossed my path
grey winged and sharp shinned
causing me to trip on my own shadow
you rose high in the sky, the color of winter
and i felt your power fall back to earth
in a tiny tumbleweed of promises.
my hope never meant as much as your survival
and no one has ever measured up to your glare
but she called you icarus in a threaded whisper
that still echoes through each moonlit night
in the season of cold and the year of empty
like the drip and song of icicles melting.
the fact that you soar is my forgiveness.