KENNETH POBO ______________________________ A Barred Owl Speaks to Me Time throws an axe at my head. I don’t duck quickly enough. Wounded, I keep walking. The forest deepens and darkens. A barred owl speaks to me with a charming owl accent. We talk about Butternut Lake which knows many spring songs. A harpsichord inside an uncurling fern plays so I start to dance, no longer lonely. The owl flies away. One feather drops on my shoulder. I suddenly know every word in the dictionary of trees.
_30
