WHERE ARE THE OWLS?
Last winter, they surrounded me, circled
my head, sat on the bedposts,
nested in the mailbox, ate all the onions
in my garden. They sang through my sleep,
their sweet trillings and warblings
coloring my dreams. I wore their cast-off
feathers in my hair, lined my boots
with their fur. Where are they now?
Did the angel who keeps the flower bed
decide I’d had them long enough?
Oh, send me an owl!
Just one would do—
one dark-eyed barred owl
to sit in the ash tree across the way,
just one owl in the ash tree.
Please make everything all right again.