Peregrine

 

My most beloved bird, winter in your wings.

Storm-driven feathers, ice-gleaming eyes.

There is no summer softness in your plumage,

Just the barred echo of your nest site pylon.

 

Scything through clouds discoloured with rain, 

Black, slate-blue, the darkness flies.

Your beauty calls me with wails on the wind,

Ascending high, circling, dissolving in haze. 

 

Nothing temperate in your searing flight,

You, a hooded outlaw blazing with intent.

Brutal bone-chilling frost in your glacial stare,

Wings crisply held, scalpels slicing the air.

 

Your prey scatter like chaff you have winnowed,

A blizzard of panic under your gaze.

Slashing rain in your stoop, lance legs extended,

Their last sight on earth is your glittering glare.

Barbara Grafton 

Image copyright Barbara Grafton