A small something whooshed by
my left ear this morning
as my dog & I were walking,
the neighborhood quiet as any
sunny late summer day can be
in a city - but, yes, actually
it was quiet as though all the neighbors
exited in a group pilgrimage 
to who-knows-where —-(I’d been thinking)
but then, sharp as a knife cutting
the air, a hawk’s call within seconds
of the whoosh & up above I see him 
on drifts of air I can only imagine,
wings outstretched in a kind of majesty
& I imagine myself, my dog, & the flying whoosh
as targets in his lasered eyes, as we all are
in somebody’s world.