poetry by j matthew waters

the gate & the raptor

there is a bird at the gate
a juvenile raptor
stopping me in my tracks

do you speak english I say

he appears to be in some sort of a trance

I ask him the same question yet again
but only silence

past the gate is where I’d like to be
where I imagine
eternal happiness resides
the kind of place that keeps you coming back

there is a stone bench
low to the grassy ground
so many yards from the gate & the raptor
where I sit down
and wait my fate
from someone or something
I know nothing about

january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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