Hawk of the Hieroglyphics

Teresa Keenan 

His deep-seated anger 
reflects in his silence. 
One eye perched against a color. 
Black invisible thoughts 
decoding the sky. 

Once I saw him diving 
towards me, craving more air 
under his wings, but I moved 
out of the squirrel body. 
I felt no pain 
when claws landed. 
Just a gush of air. 

His dizzy shadow passes 
over when it's not reflected 
against an old piece of pottery. 
I know he's reading the inscriptions. Irritable 
little lines on clay.