I.

not yet stiff

wings tucked

beak still clean

the weight of air

still shaped the body

each feather recalling

its intended task

bloodless

the sudden absence of angle

a hunter undone

by speed not its own

a body mistaken for refuse

until the eye caught talon

rust-band crown

black-barred back

the field remembered

what silence meant

only symmetry

and the thin line

between strike and sky

II.

wind lifting

not yet a name

only form

the field below

creased like thought

a seam of mouse

a thread of scent

breath inside the breastbone

held like a knife

each muscle

a question

unanswered

until now

then

tilt

fold

the world narrowing

to one sharp line

speed her only language

and silence

its echo

no witness

but the sky

and the shadow

brief as permission