Owl
Transparent as the ghost of herself,
she is the silent rush of air: knife-edged,
camouflage-mottled. She is chameleonic,
the colour of tree-bark, of old leaves,
evening skies browning around her.
She is serrated ailerons, micro-turbulence,
swallowing sound as she digests the night.
Noiseless as cloud, wings velvet-
muffled, all whispered velocity, she is
a thresher of air, spinner of vortices.
In the final, thorn-sharp kiss,
field-mouse: you won’t know a thing.
Field-mouse, you won’t know a thing
in the final, thorn-sharp kiss.
A thresher of air, spinner of vortices,
muffled, all whispered velocity, she is
noiseless as cloud-wings, velvet
swallowing sound as she digests the night.
She is serrated ailerons, micro-turbulence,
evening skies browning around her,
the colour of tree-bark, of old leaves,
camouflage-mottled. She is chameleonic.
She is the silent rush of air, knife-edged,
transparent as the ghost of herself.
This is a ‘specular’ poem (from the Italian world ‘speculare’, meaning ‘mirror-like’). The poem pivots at a central point, after which the lines are repeated in reverse order, retaining narrative cohesion while creating new phrases and associations. ‘Owl’ was shortlisted in the Wolverhampton Literature Festival (WoLF) Poetry Prize and published in the competition anthology in January 2018, going on to be reprinted in various publications subsequently.
© Sarah Doyle