Hawk Feather

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. —Chief Seattle

I found the feather of a hawk today
while roving through a field, the sun as low
as the spirits of a fellow on skid row.
That field, no doubt, was plentiful with prey—
as teeming with vole, squirrel, and fleet rabbit
as the Sea of Cortez is with whale and fish.
Now, were a genie to fulfill my wish
that folks could see the globe that we inhabit
like hawks that spy the mice, they’d see the spasm
of extinction where life plummets like loose stones
thrown off a bluff; where countless shattered bones
lie at the bottom of a yawning chasm.
Like mice, though, seeing talons drawing near,
men try to flee the truth if too severe.