The Meat of the Matter

Snake Eaters

I wonder: when the rain will soak the two brown owls -- stepping high like sentinals across my lawn. who lured them here from lair in tree by brook. what silent cadence tip-a-taps thier beat of airy steps, where the tiny hollow bones of owls will one day bake beneath the gentle sun. why yellow eyes can tell of things that only owls will know. They turn and see my face behind the droplets in the glass, blink once each, and stand windblown in the cleansing rain.