Gyrfalcon In Winter

White feathers against white sky,
unseen and silent,
death comes unexpected, unheard,
then blood appears,
carnelian red on white snow.

So death comes to the ptarmigan
as white as snow
except for eyes and its beak,
all shiny as varnished coal.

Death goes in imagination
the way it comes:
unheralded in deadly silence
and, then, is gone.

The timing of a falcon is known,
how the white wings close,
then open
at the very last instant
to receive in prayer

the ptarmigan,
its body broken, transformed from air
to elements of flesh
and still warm blood
to be served up as food.