Thirty Hawks Circle the Sky above Me
November 21, 2015
I lean forward in the driver’s seat
And stare out the cloudy windshield
At the swooping black dots higher than Brasstown Bald
I search for a curve
Of wing
Of profile
Of body
The slightest bend to distinguish them
from buzzards’ flat pedestrian span
I am like the woman
Searching for the lost coin
I squint and hope
For I, too, can be lost
But today, I am not
In this moment–
When I witness thirty hawks
poised in their migration above me–
I poise beneath the curve of the wing of God