William F Dougherty - Owl Light

The mole catacombed under dripping roots,
gnawing grubs like clustered shrimp, pulpy white
dangling in gloom. In the oak, patient hoots

practiced the dark; tiny hands tunneled and scooped
processions of mounds: a breach of lunar light
the owl distinguished from his drift and swooped,

spread grasping hooks, honed keen as his sight,
and yanked the mole's squeal from under a dune,
ascending with his prey in silhouetted flight

up the talcum motes of a taloned moon.

William F Dougherty

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