Hawk on the Wind
August Derleth
See now!
— how on the wind he rides,
he wheels, he soars: he captures heaven
as a cloud.
High he goes,
and higher still —
and down, coasts down the slopes of blue,
rolls out of heaven, clouds . . .
See now!
— how on the wind he breaks
the afternoon, he wheels, he turns
above the stubble's snow-held ruins,
he takes the silver sun, the sheen of day
upon his wings:
eye gleams,
eye hunts, the jewelled black,
the bead of eye that seeks in mouse
in stoat, in trembling hare,
house for the taloned death,
the voiceless death
on wings.
See now!
— how on the wind and under sun
his shadow presages his coming
and his going, his shadow courses field
and pasture, ledge and slope of hill,
and dwindles at his height.
High he goes,
and higher still:
hawk's greatness gone to swallow's form,
gone high to blue-domed heaven
to tumble down
the wild March wind,
to hold the breathlessness of winter air,
the chill cold promise of the spring
in feathers, wings, wild heart
and strong.
See now!
— alone,
how on the wind he drops as stone
toward earth, and vaults the sky:
alone, no hawk near
to see, to hear his cry.
Alone: no mate,
he is yet no less great . . .
See now!
— again, again,
how on the wind he rides, he wheels,
he scrutinises ground
on his eternal round
of wind and clouds and snow-bound earth
as daring spring,
as calling April lying where
the grass is rooted, and the meadow mice
give watchful eye
to hi cross upon the sky,
his shadow's marking death's cross
on the ground.
See now!
— he comes,
he goes, he flows
along the rim of earth and sky,
he hunts and holds his taloned death
within, he rides the air,
and from the south blows
ceaselessly, the wind,
the wind . . .
See now!
— how on the wind
he rides, he wheels, he soars:
he captures heaven as an April cloud!
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