Harvey S. Mozolak
fog’s cool wet pat
on the warm land
wisps sleep unseen
longer
beneath grey fingers
extending
here and there their knuckles
quietly rising
above the trees and hills
to silhouette with silence
the sky and sun’s impatience
the clap and blink
flutter of flared wings
from startled nests
roar of engined breath
splash of a storm’s passing
awake
short the clawing hold
on hard slippery stone
and muddied earth
then on to hunt and prey
the seen no longer hidden
