An Unlikely Beast

When he swoops down out of nowhere,
his wing-span swallows the horizon,
his talons blot out the rising moon,
his feather-dots loom like a galaxy,

and all falls silent, bating its breath.
The darkness welling from his narrowed eyes
dripping from the tip of his down-curled beak,
turns the lights off on the world, fills it with a dread

of death. He is the uncontested king.

And yet, as if strangely unaware,
a flock of smaller birds follow him around
without a fear or a misgiving
despite a canopy of doom he spreads about.

They seem to know that his potent gloom
is pulled by another gravity
(solidified grief and deepest despair)
to which he surrenders with all of his might,

and in one fell swoop, gathers us gently
into his night.