Photo credit: Pixabay
Above my head a peregrine floats high
Scanning the space between the cliffs and sea
A motionless cut-out in the sky
I am nothing, she does not care for me.
She patrols this narrow space, this littoral
Casting her pilgrim shadow as she flies
Dream soaring, yet awake, she does not fall
Or stoop until the need, or when she spies
The warm bundle of blood and flesh and fur
She will target, a diving arrow stone;
I look up again and find she’s not there,
Her brief time in this place has come and gone.
I’m left in this domain, in the between,
The borderlands of which she‘s queen.