Within a dream,

a hawk above

gently rides

patterns in the wind.


Seeing this,

my dream-self

whispers:


Higher perspective.

Trusting the flow.

Hunting...poems.


The dream-hawk circling

comes to rest in a nest

high atop a sentinel pine.


I awake

from my nap

on the shaded rocks.


An instant later,

circling above

on this side of the veil,

a hawk

of the realm

of mountains and rivers.


The hawk glides down,

alights upon a sunlit pine;


inner world

outer world

one.

Hawk of the Pines is the digital nest for the contemplative arts and poetry of Frank LaRue Owen