by Sarah Grace Tuttle
In the tree
behind the cemetery
a patch of
mottled light and shadow
half-hidden by leaves
is breathing.
As the sun sets,
it is waking.
Soon it will call
Hoo H-Hoo Hooo!
and launch into flight--
a great horned owl.
from Hidden City: Poems of Urban Wildlife
2018, Eerdmans
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