John I. Blair
Last night while looking for the moon
I turned to view the sky above my chimney
And saw an outline, dark against the haze,
Perched high atop the corner of the brick.
It was clear that something there
Was looking back at me.
Wrapped in the gloom we traded stares,
Equally surprised no doubt;
And then the shadow blinked,
Took silent flight, and flapped away.
Later, in the house, I scanned my books,
Seeking a name by which to call my prize.
Likeliest surmise: a barred owl
(Known by many other names as well),
Commonest of urban owls of size,
Secretive enough that few will spy them.
I prefer to pick a name some give it by mistake:
Bard owl. The poet’s owl.
©2013 John I. Blair
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