Raymond A. Foss Poems

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The hawk swooped down
falling talons first,
down from the sky, out of the blue
across my field of vision, down the highway
air brakes engaged; but there was no strike,
no small creature on the ground, in the talons.
The raptor carved the sky, retracted its legs
and arched back into the blue, flapping
its broad wings, lit in the late afternoon sun
back into the heavens above.

July 27, 2007 19:41

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