Poetry

No Owls

Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash

No owls here.
Why does that leave me low?
No raccoons, beavers, or bears
but their absence leaves no hole
as the empty wake of an owl.
Drowsing on a high branch
She will not call my name.
I will live forever
without a ruling on my actions.
No voice hunting in the dusk,
no shrinking beneath her beady gaze.
Still, I stand haunted by what’s not here.