Kay Cotton

Owl

ahead of me
on the road in slow
motion, so close I know
you’re not hunting,
just making a
way for me.

Great oarsman,
silent, dipping
your wings’ leading edge
into this night’s millpond,
as you rise and fall
I find myself
wondering

Who are you?
Has my sister
who said she’d haunt me
sent you from hedge to hedge
a swoop of loving,
a gift of white,
to guide me?

Whatever –
this seamless flight is raising a smile,
taking time out of time
flowing down the road
endlessly bright
before me.