The moon sits on the owl’s shoulder.
The moon sits on the mountain’s shoulder
On this most unnatural night
As I feel my way among the images.
The owl is made of fire,
There is fire inside the owl,
His feathers sparkle with it.
There is fire within the tree.
The images blur and coalesce
With moon, owl and fire
Until there is nothing,
No image at all.
In the dark clear light of blankness
Only the sound of the owl: When?
When will the images coalesce?
Being a seer with no sight,
Being a god with no right,
Being a bird with no flight
Is damned hard work.
If I had known it was like this
I wouldn’t have gotten into the racket.
Richard C. Richards, circa 1970
From ‘Poems That Almost Got Away‘, published by Healing Time Books, is available on Amazon.com