And Here Becomes a Name

I talk to the red-shinned hawk that flies along the path. Why,

hello.

I walk the life, dreaming gentleness. Pray kindly begin me. Again.

Mud stream

-ing over there. How like you, world. To give me a hawk.

And in the sweetly, like newfangledness, in only that three-breath span now a coyote howls.

No.

It’s an owl.

A howl becomes a who.

How like you, world.

For only the trees and I, and I suppose some invisible stars running in the dark, the trees and stars and I are already the same.

And very much changed.