The Owl and the Mouse
The world does not have words…
Language, but no words.
-Tomas Transtromer
In February, a feral alphabet: a thin line
of mouse tracks scribbled across the flawless powder,
intersecting it, the signature of attack // caesura.
two lives met here, one, light-footed, earthbound,
the other, aerial, heavy-winged. Two lines
drawn together by hunger. On impact, the owl made
angel wings, white and perfect as the living body,
every feather, every barbule, printed in the snow.
two lines on the page of winter
tell a simple story, in simple language, not words:
two lives met here, became one.
-Harry Thruston
