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.