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.
"three-breath span" :-)