In the Balance

Art: Mark Collins
http://markcollinsfineart.com/

This Autumn afternoon

the young hawk

took himself into the air

arising from some secret in the old orchard

and banking toward the blue-hued mountains

to station in one of the far-reaching red oaks

that the farmer let live for want of

cattle-shade. Black angus. Not very

imaginative. The hawk: I thought of poetry,

of Gary Snyder up in a fire

tower scribing masterpieces

on simplicity and balance.

Then, as if it was meant to demonstrate how

quickly a lovely thought can shapeshift into some

harsh reality, the squirrel arrived and that, was

that: not well-practiced but honed by necessity,

it cut across the distance. Woosh!

I said to myself: “Look at the way he loves. Look

at the way he serves Heaven. Look how he

learns who he is.” There was nothing to disdain.

Nothing to grieve. There was an impaled

squirrel there—thick with the season—twitching in

the grass and a hawk mantling his prey just

like a voice that I couldn’t hear told him

to do. In his golden eyes, I saw the low yellow

sun and the yellow flowers that friends

give each other when red means too much.

I remembered other things that had seemed

like something until suddenly things changed.

There was some grief in that, and some joy too. And,

this is where I was with my thoughts when he arose

with the squirrel and went off, pulsing, somewhere

into the wood where he could tear a life

apart in private. I became the poet.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Installment for collaborative book project and show with artist Mark Collins

Work in progress

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