The ghost owl is patient 

Biding his time in the lacy veil of the trees 

Knowing darkness will soon descend 

Signaling that his time has arrived. 

And soon the sun, a tender lover, 

Sinks slowly into the eager embrace of the pulsating earth 

While the moon arises triumphantly Into the night sky. 

The owl is but a specter 

Silently hidden in the verdant canopy 

That both shields and seduces him 

As his eyes sweep the forest floor 

For the rippling tremors that echo softly  

Rising up to his perch in the crown 

Where he is the jewel, yet unseen. 

In a moment, he will get his release 

As the velvet cloak that safeguards him 

Awaits his soundless descent. 

He senses the life below him 

And is now one with their inhalations and exhalations 

As he prepares to soar in syncopated rhythm with their heartbeats 

Then swoops before he is even a thought or a blur in their periphery 

His stealth is practiced perfection 

As the deadly pas de deux 

Between light and the void begins and ends.