MARSH HAWKS Mary Oliver p. 1986* ======================== In the morning they glide just above the rough plush of the marshlands, as though on leashes, long-tailed and with yard-wide wings tipped upward, like dark Vs; then they suddenly fall in response to their wish, which is always the same-- to succeed again and again. What they eat is neither fruit nor grain, what they cry out is sharper than a sharp word. At night they don't exist, except in our dreams, where they fly like mad things, unleashed and endlessly hungry. But in the day they are always there gliding and when they descend to the marsh they are swift, and then so quiet they could be anything-- a rock, an uprise of earth, a scrap of fallen tree, a patch of flowers casting their whirling shadow. ======== * from _Dream Work_, 1986 ======== ========