a poem

THE GREAT HORNED OWL STRIX VIRGINIANA 

PLATE LXI MALE AND FEMALE

“IT is during the placid serenity of a beautiful summer night when the current of the waters moves silently along reflecting from its smooth surface the silver radiance of the moon and when all else of animated nature seems sunk in repose that the Great Horned Owl, one of the Nimrods of the feathered tribes of our forests, may be seen sailing along silently yet rapidly intent on the destruction of the objects destined to form his food”. – John James Audubon

Flying by inward nightmap

Through the gross tangles of the American bewilderment

Plucking from the frenzied scramble

Among brittle oak leaves

A succulent rodent

Such are the owl’s feats.

He’s no Greek hero, our continental dispatcher

Of mice and shrews

And does not sulk in his tent

When the distribution of slave girls goes against him.

Our nimrod lacks all epic vanity.

On moon scouted nights, swooping over rivers

where doxies on dolphinback

are keeling for the port cities

he pays no heed to their luring songs.