should be ready now wedge the gates
and get gone last on the loud leash
fall your way in the steamy tarmac that flows
look up son the whole pulse that surrounds you
arc of you little owl fasten to your autumn
and let the current through
daughter my thread twined through august piled leaves
missel reed blow the weathering harp clean
and be play in the bobbing leaf
dawn tear my measurers tape
cinder right eids
little owl under words
torch your canopies and catch
Owllight 