Unweary

Motion like that could turn your thoughts
loose to build momentum out in the wind,

while the breeze is still chilled
in its own way, this late in the season.

My thoughts are with the hawk, barely visible
and soaring the undercurrents of surprise.

He must feel it too, this thing unseen until
the effect reaches wing, feathers; and lower

still where it sings through limb and leaf.
Alive when another gust compels an understanding

of instinct and action immediate.
Flow with it, flow with it...

And he does, high above and tethered
by my lens.