Hawk In Sun (Following My Son's Funeral)

I.

A red-tailed hawk flies over.
I hear its cry
wild and free as the cry of a soul,
more free than bold,
as in ecstasy,
a  priest's entertainment.

Alone it flies,
the power of its wings being sky,
and I know that I
am neither so harsh
or so young.

Too much I lie
to myself, turning wish into truth.
Too much I try
to resist
my own expiation.

Red hawk, spread your tail of fire!
Set the sky aflame,
burn the world and its love of possessions,
that same old same
of passive and hate-filled aggression;

let desire frame
the giving of self and the taking,
all the hidden shame
dissolve and dry up like dew.

Red eye, proclaim
my body the field of your hunt
and my heart your prey.

II.

Then, Hawk, speak the voice of my father,
say all is well;
that the two of you are flying together,
strong of wing
and light as a feather;

say the endless well
of sky,
when drunk, is forever and ever;
say that all life rides
the swell of desire as it churns,
that the gyres we turn
trace the figure
of a pendulum swinging;

let your tail's bright flame
burn clean every loss, every winning
so that what remains
is the slate of each new day's beginning.

II.

Now, Hawk, climb high!