We build our bridges of starlight
only burnt down by the blazing sun.
But we've just transgressed to night,
where owl wings have come undone.

The rat scuttles past the forest floor,
leaves crunching in their path like the fall,
as some people leave open doors,
when they have no one else to call.

The owl swoops in to take its meal
on four, short weak  legs.
The shadows across her window
shows the two dropping into her bed.

The owl took its meal and ate;
his stomach was now full.
The man had what he wanted to take.
He left a feeling so cold and cruel.

Burning bridges isn't fun
if they can only be seen at night.
They can only be burnt by the sun,
and these were bridges of starlight.

See the owl in swift silent flight,
Surfing the darkness of the night,
In control of its black domain,
Its prey killed quick, no time for pain.

Don’t be outraged when its victim dies;
The owl’s not a mugger of the skies,
No malice shown when it hunts for meat,
It leaves alone what it cannot eat!

Mystery in my night. Have seen you once, a pair of you.
I wait for the night to hear your sounds, venture out into the deep hot sand.
Where are you. Hoo hoo I hear you again. I call to you wait a moment, your not silly, knowing not for a single moment I am an owl.
I only wish to see your beautiful face, so white and bold, you truly have my mind on hold.
To watch you fly wings span so far into the sky.
Seems like you touch the moon. I only want to soar with you.
Your safe here with us, no fear of hunters here. Trust me each night, as I shall protect you here.
Come again beautiful one. I find peace and comfort watching you each night.
Nashoba copyrighted 2017

whilst they chase us,
and murmur hymns 'neath swollen wings,
they guide us,
with beckon words.

for the birds of baby eyes,
and elderly minds,
they wish for and dream just as much as we,
and ask many questions 'neath--therein--night.

who are you?
who are we?
who are they?
who is may?

simplicity within sliver tongues,
and nocturne in starry eyes,
we learn,
and grow,
listening to the native tongues from the birds of age.

for they speak in rhyme,
and rhythm--you see,
and bless us with the ability.

highlighter eyes blind we,
our neon stoplights, we see,
our teacher--our father--our mentor,
that wishes we move as he does.

for he feeds us rats!
and breaks his very neck for our arrival,
'my child--my pupil--my daughter--my son--welcome'
ever he always,
'mind you--mind you--your eyes beg wonder--sleep waits not for the lazy!'
and with a hardy laugh he bellows, the wind whips its hair as pompously, and only then his feet grabs for our shirts as we soar.

with darkly snoozes,
and sickly snores,
our teacher--our father--our mentor,
cares for us dozens!

for our wings dance lots--dance lots!--midst the rocky blue sun,
and our hearts shriek with candy teeth,
at the earth swimming below our dusty feet,
and clouds preach hello in wonder.

for the twilight knows of many bodies,
of many hands,
of many feet,
of many faces,
for they look up and see moving paintbrushes 'ganist canvas!
and wish for many easels.

and the earth knows of many tired bodies,
that the night has sickened,
with drooping eyes,
and legs a-limpin',
for they become the elder too,
as they play it and earned it well.

and the night sky argues and blinks many,
and births a new globe all and of its own!
as the olden wings guide us,
and our beings ache the part,
with sliver tongues,
and nocturnal starry eyes,
whom sweeps us into Forevermore.