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Owl Light

by William F Dougherty

The mole catacombed under dripping roots,
gnawing grubs like clustered shrimp, pulpy white
dangling in gloom. In the oak, patient hoots

practiced the dark; tiny hands tunneled and scooped
processions of mounds: a breach of lunar light
the owl distinguished from his drift and swooped,

trawled grasping hooks, honed keen as his sight,
and yanked the mole's squeal from under a dune,
ascending with his prey in silhouetted flight

up the talcum motes of a taloned moon.


Posted on 07/07/2012
Copyright © 2021 William F Dougherty

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Linda Fuller on 07/07/12 at 11:57 PM

Absolutely beautiful.

Posted by A. Paige White on 07/09/12 at 03:28 AM


Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/12/12 at 10:52 PM

As a life long birder, I love what you've done here. Nice tight form and imagery.

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