this time of year you can hear clearly the rushing intent of the stream even though it can’t be seen

it cuts
every second it’s cutting, moving and cutting, zig-zagging, digging deeper as it goes, a perfect perpetuity

rippling cacophony
the sound of it becomes everything, negates everything, is as if unstoppable, its roaring way made

it swirls
instead of faltering, swells into haystacks defying its state, then calmly into eddies and calmly into pools

the canyon
it’s gnawed sits in gentle acceptance, almost embracing, always approaching but never encroaching

waiting to be washed away

not plain to the eye as far as you or I can see
but plainly free to be seen
by eyes keen of the hawk
across the field and up the
tree

perception has levels, we quickly conclude
proudly
and out of thin air
deducing

and upon the virtues of specialization
a tangent is unwittingly
embraced
and so forth into
the complexities
we only think we understand
but really don’t

his body bobs smoothly as the branch
of the tree waivers just so
on a breeze implied
but his gaze is fixed

we agree upon a rodent at first, then address specificity
surmising from the grass
dangling from a talon
a mouse

and that’s when, like a reflex, from the tree he dropped
a flash of wings and
his broad tail fanning
out

there was a moment when we were
both aware of
each other’s gasp &
the breath held as the suspense
played out

then back to the perch in a bound
settling in and smoothing feathers before
with three quick snips
consuming our
confirmation