Conversation with T. alba

A Talk with Tyto alba

To the garden watered

by my tears

the Barn Owl came one night.

He sat on a branch,

swiveling his windowed head

and asked me why

I cried.

“Are you lonely

here, in this place

you built yourself? Do the walls

draw in at evening

and do you miss the sigh

of free wind I sail?”

I looked in his eyes

round as apples, golden

orbs drawing light

from dark, and shook my head.

“Then is it the stone

you carry inside, the one

that presses so hard on your lungs,

heavy with years, hollow with loss,

sharp with  fear

of  tomorrow?”

I shook my head 

and said,

“I don’t cry for what I’ve lost

or what I am or what will be.

 I cry for what I’ve broken

and what has broken me.”

“Very sensible,”

said my friend

with a dip of his wing

and left my garden,

chasing the soft

sweet rustlings

in the grass.

June 2011

Image: Lechuza (Tyto alba) by macha.cl posted on flick'r 

macha.cl's photostream
Shared under a Creative Commons 2.0 Generic License