the owls sing

the owls sing

languid in the hot tub
late late at night
the owls sing for me
two mated pairs
high in the neighborhood
oak and redwood
calling to each other

they know I’m there
companions as I soak and
ponder how things are
their sonorous tones
a haunting music
both intimate and lonely

am I eavesdropping
on a love song?
the state of their world?
are they discussing the hunt?
is it a partnership dance
and I am their witness?
their sentience
sweet company

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.

6 thoughts on “the owls sing

  1. Sylvia Tepper

    I love the sound of the owls. I miss them here in the city. We heard them often in the country. Maybe you are hearing the Great Horned Owls hoot hoot hooting back and forth. Something so soothing about that sound. Your poem brought that right back to me. Thanks. XO Sylvia


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