Sunday Thoughts in August
A flock of small, black birds
Swoops over the pond,
Like a magician’s clock, snapping.
She sees the birds as a sign:
Refusing to blink, she watches the flight.
She has missed her flock now
And will have to remain here.
They are both standing on the wall
Above the pond wearing sweaters
With wreaths knit around their necks.
A hawk dips with a long hook,
Dips down just over where they stand.
Then, he is gone, towed up and away.
She doesn’t remember blinking.
In one moment everything changes.
She is alone.
He is thin air.
Her sweater begins to unravel
On its own.
People say they are sorry.
She can’t tell them how he left.
No one will believe a hawk could tow away