Originally posted 8/30/2013.

The last hawk in this town
just lifted off from the Town Hall roof

and flapped straight over the river,
rising as she went.

I know somehow she won’t be back.
I know somehow we’re somewhat doomed.

I get an itch in my limbs just thinking of it.
It’s not going to be the same here without the hawks. 

I’ve been trying to empower myself
with other animals’ symbolic value

but they all insist on living their lives.
How dare they! They really ought to be

useful.  The hawks
have never understood that well.

Far beyond the river, a dim sighting
of many hawks plunging and soaring.

Such teases.  What are they telling us?
How should we respond?