An Owl’s View


An Owl’s View

There’s an owl on the roof passing away
my busy day. Sitting there, plain grey
and shortish, like a split between this side
and that, and its head popping up like

a button for a view, as if its location
might otherwise be lost without a look,
and I know if I stood like that owl,
I would be an accident on legs.






Found text, remixed from Bleak House by
Charles Dickens, and my 1991 Winter Journal.


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