by Zara Raab

Today at dusk I walked the ridge
where often I have seen
the red-tailed hawk lay siege

upon his perch there, high
in a eucalyptus tree.
His strategy's surprise;

Keenly watchful, he waits,
tense with vigilance,
as I pass below in haste,

when suddenly–I startle,
so quiet the air has been–
he rises, full-throttled,

on his wide swift wings.
I stood quite still–and then
I heard the cicadas sing

in raucous harmony, not far.
In nearby fields they called,
and he had taken to the air.


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