Forgotten Ground Regained

White Owl Irruption

First they come flying, fast as Finn at Finnsburgh, when he laid swift sword · in steady lord's lap looking for raw revenge. So did these raptors beat on, wind-rowing, catching breezes, · breath or blow, steadily southward, stealing by night down from the tundra, tacking against time. Snow-backed owls, ominous, soaring toward food, sustenance needed, in search of prey, presently pensive, late-lighting on rooftops, landing in marches hungry, hollow, come to harbor here, virtual Vikings · invading our shores, baring barred backs · to bask in winter sun.
Originally published New Crops from Old Fields: Eight Medievalist Poets ed. Oz Hardwick, Stairwell Press, 2015
Copyright © Pam Clements, 2015
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