The owl spreads her wings. Is it in her wings?
The hawk dives toward her prey.
Is it in her gaze, her talons?

The worm turns. The vulture tarries.
The dove cocks her head wary.
Sunset holds the key to sunrise.

Let us be all right with that.
Skeletons are out of closets
and walking around with skin.

Where to begin and where to end?
Let us suppose they are partly the same:
In the cradle’s shadow there it is,
the grave,

in the shadow of the manger there they are:
the cross,
the tomb:

Life.

copyright, 5-24-2014 by UT2