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.
Alina Happy Hansen
Writer in San Francisco, CA
- SF
In May, the fog slips
Into the city nestling
Against glass and steel
I am perched at the bar and
Swim in music and murmurs