Little Owl

I heard an owl

In the time where the noise is flattened

By night's heavy hand,

And the lonely percussion

Of the town's clock bell

Is the only thing that can tap its blankness.

But tonight, something different.

I am lying on my back,

Listening.

The dawn is approaching,

Inching through the gaps

Where dark's defence is weakest.

I am still,

Rigid, like a stone sarcophagus,

Waiting.

And then it comes.

Again.

Its gentle richness fills my soul,

The soft cadence of bird call

Bidding me to listen, to focus while I rest.

What do you hoot for, little owl?

Who, who, who do you call for?

I don't think it is for me

But I accept it as a gift nonetheless.

And as the light dominates,

I imagine your flight to where you sleep

And I reach for your return

And your night-time wooing.