The Owl’s Book

by the pool the owl
whose feathers regress
through time’s mist to
caress light’s own reflection,
as through glass, and in
silence reads the hostile
night’s lush novel.
day breaks, the
sun’s nomads
have arisen
hoot hoo!
hoo!

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!

 

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

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