Home in the Mist, A Moment

I saw it from the safe green field
four hundred lonely feet below --
thick grass, sticks, mud,
a craggy home,
two scrawny heads
scanning the skies
for bloodied rodents
slow-flopping salmon
juicy rabbits --
their universe.

With them, I scanned
the deepening skies
rippling in the heat pulses
that rose in silent waves
from the hot granite cliffside.

Then I saw them. One drifting
in high widening motionless ovals,
head down, vigilant. . .
then the other, lower,
heavy with prey
smooth mighty thrusts,
cleaving bone and feather
through heavy air
to reach the safety and chaos
of home.

Then the shrieking chicks,
ravenous, tearing at flesh
spewing blood
on the bone-strewn floor
of their misty home.

Then the mother, satisfied,
drifting lazily off the edge
of the lofty aerie,
drifting back towards the field,
her mate watchful, still high
in the silence above
their home,
raucous again with the demands
of waiting children

© clark cook