The Hawk over Indiana Highway U.S. 30, Tuesday

The Hawk

over Indiana Highway U.S. 30, Tuesday

So high he looks tiny at first, higher than any other bird dares to fly;
The hawk drops lower and closer, and he (or she?) reveals himself.
Once you notice the hawk, you cannot watch anything else;
He compels your attention and everything else is framed by his aerial ballet.
The Hawk has powerful charisma.
Still, motionless  among the clouds, the hawk does not fly;
He's too regal for all that flapping and fluttering.
He just spreads his massive 8-foot sails and rides the wind,
As if the wind and sky and the planet below were all made just for him.
A creature of such majesty he could not be more
Well equipped to master his domain, to master the sun and sky,
To command the wind; to rule the land below.
Everything is effortless, gliding, self-propelled, not a motion wasted.
Indeed the hawk is owner and master of all that the eye can see --  
From a hawk's eye, from a vantage high in the air, all of it is his.
This hawk is the supreme ruler of all he sees.
So I am still looking up at the hawk, pausing

Before I head inside to my 35-square-foot workstation,
Where I will sit motionless on a blue-yellow June day.

 Staring at e-mails that will all be meaningless in a week,
Under the fluorescent lights, eating a lunch that I've packed.
I think about the hawk and take a breath, a sigh, and one last look at the sun
Before entering the cavernous office building;
And I wonder what the hawk thinks of me.