Seance for Hawks & Commoners
The hawk
filled in for me
when there was a lack;
falling from the sky –
saw me see him,
sharp-eyed, piercing,
bullety from on high,
claws targeting,
clutching the dog run fence
for hours in the rain,
after tearing piece
after meaty piece
from that succumbed crow’s carcass:
the rain, the crow,
the hawk –
& the one that was me;
the me that was I,
between here & now,
in the non-local connection
of a universal commoner
with thoughts of fresh steel
& hot glass
blown full of breath;
the early industrialism’s Karl Marx
& Friedrich Engels
& a curious
equilibrium of dimensions
The hawk
filled out for me
the trajectory of necessity,
the forms of clouds
& the rare chords
of Bösendorfer Imperial just intonation
à la La Monte Young
& the telltales of Terry Riley
The hawk finally filed me away
in the hull of a Per-Albin house
on a hill of till
with stainless faucets & porcelain toilets;
took off when I didn’t look,
beak still rainy, plumage into the wind;
nobility of wilderness leaving a trail
of hard truth
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-08-22 at 10:45
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