White Owl

Where the way whispers softly
the hand uncurls open and accepting
the heart unwraps from its tightly woven centre
the energy spirals outward to fingertips
where heat and current pass between outstretched hands
tuned to receive
the owl flies
through the darkness
flexing padded wingtips
as silent and elusive
as a lingering waft of pale grey smoke
gliding and searching
and through the night
comes a long haunting screech