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
- Crossroads
I saw her at the
Crossroads, black dog at her heel
A torch in her hand
Another drink, a day gone
Torch burning in the darkness