Verreaux’s Eagle-Owl
on a bare branch
directly along our path
in the last sunset light a camera needs
beneath the blue-white glow
of a nearly-full moon
he perches casually
as if we’ve conjured him
as if there were anything else we needed
as if we hadn’t been awed enough
our pink eyelids blink back at his
and our jaws hang open
our lips forming a wowed o
for owl
