The cut (original)

See here, on
my cloud-shadowed palm,
a still-bloodied cut,
where my
falcon’s talon
grazed my hand?
He’s off to look
for prey.
Never jessed, he sits
by me, or, sometimes,
on my arm,
turning side-to-side,
eyes unbound,
alert to motion
dark
in the pale desert.
Hungry,
he goes to feed
in moon-lit worlds,
then comes home
and grooms
his wings.

to mf on kc 2012

(original title: The scratch)

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