Softly the entrance into my eyes
as though a feather has fallen through
would fall through
the sincerity of its contact
upon firm fiber, velvet
curve bent towards the sky
as though it is made of it, simply
to touch what can fly
tracing from cherry plume to lawn
tiny wings with my eyes
or the massive quiet up lifting
barn owl from wheat, closing her gap
between body and moon
that between
wind building beneath her wing
which of course I could borrow
and live within.