Hawk Roosting

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed. 1)Inaction, no 2)falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked feet: Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees! The air's 3)buoyancy and the sun's ray Are of advantage to me; And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark. It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly — I kill where I please because it is all mine. There is no 4)sophistry in my body: My manners are tearing off heads —

The 5)allotment of death. For the one path of my flight is direct Through the bones of the living. No arguments assert my right:

The 6)sun is behind me. Nothing has changed since I began. My eye has permitted no change. I am going to keep things like this.