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...and to look at her life
I should realize
she knows her world
much like a hawk knows to fly.
And she looks upon me with revulsion,
'cause I'm busily drowning in mine...

at home in the place she was born for
hawk - composite graphic

cry for the hawk

Don't cry for the hawk,
the sky's daughter;
beloved of the wind,
she's at home in the place
she was born for,
the life that she knows,
there's no other.

Don't cry for the hawk
you could never see
the world through her eyes;
	She soars ever-watchful
	tenaciously clinging
	to heights she has clawed
	on her own, and each day
	she will give it her strength,
	her reason for being.
You watch her and dream of
possession, encounter --
a sign of her having seen;
brushed by sky,
in colors of silence,
watchfulness, solitude.

Don't cry for the hawk
she knows she's bounded
by time and by circumstance
much more than you --
Feeling the passage of seasons,
each new day giving
herself to the sky
	will she know
	the last time she'll ascend,
	will tomorrow
	still bring her the heights
	she's achieved in her prime,
	will the wind hold her gently
	her world forgive her
	for weakness,
	for mornings seen weary,
	for prey she'd forsake
	and taking for granted
	those lonely spirals descending,
	her strength her salvation --
She can't soar so slow
as to see you crying for her.

Jonathan Bohrn (1999)
Chapter 8
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