Two Owls

Two owls with awls for eyes
                            look through the leather dark.
Wise, we say. And so they are,
              shrewd masters of their barn,

great misers of the moon,
                            who, having snatched that dime
worn dim midway its arc,
              have magnified their vision.

With faces scooped to spoon
                            secrets the barn has held
noon until now, has felt
              like a heart its clot of rubies,

they watch what’s hidden squeeze
                            to spill; every twilight
they kill, as angels might.
              Back, back a moment, whispers

behind old boards forget,
                            emerge, confess an urge
before and after plunging
              wings. The whole of things

a cunning, craving scroll
                            that blood sun, full sun, sun
rolling its ballpoint thin
              across, cannot read truly,

two owls scan, innerstand,
                            who spend their wisdom swiftly
and swivel in their square
              of darkness, knowing it.

—Josiah Cox

Image by Tambako The Jaguar, licensed via Creative Commons. Image cropped.