hawking
I long for the ancient
and the elegant
symbol of the noble –
a single merlin,
with slender, pointed wings,
climbing, sailing,
diving fiercely for its prey
seizing, clutching in its claws,
the quiet and the surreal
striking with a single
blow of the beak
soaring swiftly, gliding
noiselessly on the wing
nerve endings responding
to the feeding call
never losing its sneering
distrust of its captor,
of memories handed down
on the fists of kings
I wait for a falconer
to appear from
the morning mist
in full attire, for longwingers
to prepare themselves
for a near escape
I dream of the ancient
and the elegant
symbol of the noble –
a single, unhooded peregrine
feasting freely
under the calm
of a medieval sun