Two red-tailed hawks above the burbs. They dance
on waves of atmosphere. One takes a chance,
plummeting toward the other in romance.
Above the streets and roofs they soar and frolic,
their ardor to link up in air symbolic
of a less polluted age. My melancholic
mood has lifted like their wings have lifted,
bearing them to such heights. The world is gifted
at causing awe. They’re gone. The wind has shifted.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Martin
Elster would be pleased to hear them.