owl spins, eyes linger on bush, on stone,
on dark crevice. a rustle. eyes bore, a softness
presses under feathers as the owl lifts, to
glide to snatch up a plump gray mouse.
Writer in San Francisco, CA

Slid into heaven
Thanks to raven wings and bones
It is a dark room
Scattering of beads, thunder
I wake in the morn
poem written in Tanka form
owl spins, eyes linger on bush, on stone,
on dark crevice. a rustle. eyes bore, a softness
presses under feathers as the owl lifts, to
glide to snatch up a plump gray mouse.