The Hovering

In a matter of days

You zigged up into space

A rare, mythical raptor

Up, up and away

I had to train my mind

Close my fist, the spigot of my eyes

Flashing, failing hopes I hide

You simply won’t bite the bait

It is 5am

The chitterlings tear into the warmest shade

Of ghostly blue, a nudge to the day

You descended like a murmuration of stars

A chorus of birdsongs

Carrying omens from afar

You were meant to be a date

Now you have a stately talon

A head crested with victory scars