Trembling, her eyes glow
Somehow fails to know
Whether the moon waxes
Or wanes
And the energy spent speculating
Simply drains
In vain she tries to kiss it
Pirouettes in mid-air
Like a church choir that sing an off-key note
And God laughs
Not seeming to care
“It’s a lottery baby, everybody rolls the dice”
But she dislikes to gamble
And she can’t abide chasing mice
Her talons can’t pierce
Tender hearts for consumption
Rather, she’ll digest
Alternative luncheon
Which may be unpopular
But helps her to function
Calls once made to companions dwindle
And falter
Past nocturnal creatures linger
They halt at the prospect of prey
Engrossed in their own frenzied sport
So solitarily passing the day
She lays low, calls to the moon
And waits for an answer
Her beak quivers softly, barely a moan
Deep down she knows
What she needs, what she seeks
Will be set by another’s clock
Not her own
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