poem

A white owl

I have become

Mediumistic

Eyes circled in red
Hair snowy with splotches of
Dark earth

Flying through dusks
remembering their dawns
knowing this is not all there is


no Whoosh
no Swoosh
gliding, guided by innate remarks

lighting on the edge of a golden brown field
atop a hemlock tree
only to swoop

into the earth’s boundless dreaming







MariJo Moore
©