Contained For Now

Set huddled, perched and brown
against the overcast,
a close-wrought clump alone
on barren, jagged snarl
of winter branches, cold
and damp while waiting time
to mount the grey sky, soar
in search of wary prey
a mite too loose: the hawk,
a red tail signifying
that patient majesty
still pausing, hold the place
until lithe violence
exposes life to death.

Bill Flewelling