The Owl If

All evening from the deck

I listened to his question.

Was he asking for volunteers?

I know the legend. If

he sounds your name, you'll soon

be crossing the dark river.

Ten weeks of treatment

and no results in evidence:

I have reasons

to believe he means me,

but no intention

of enlisting. After all,

I have seen him on the handrail

in daylight, still imperial,

but benign, an enigma,

with talons piercing wood,

feathers still as oak bark

beside the dying gardenia.

I have watched him slowly open

his gold eyes and shiver.

Looking straight at my face,

was he laboring to remember

syllables from the forest

to form my fading name?