Poetry: Goshawk


In the dunes we hear his hoarse
hollering, with reindeer lichens
and crumbling caverns of sand
arriving where our feet
meet the horizon.

We run under the clouds
the sea to our side
to see the wind tugging his
hair curling from his head

eyes glistening behind eggs
of steel-rimmed glasses:
heโ€™s seen a goshawk below
hiding in a bramble bush.

ยฉ Daniel James Greenwood 2016

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