A sudden rush of white wings
over my head in the woods,
an owl blithely signaling
its presence, alighting
on a branch mere
feet in front of me,
dark socketed eyes
full of whatever I might
choose to see or not see.
This mind suddenly full
of four-letter words:
coin, body, life,
what I might do with these.

I think of Eurydice,
the Netflix version,
deprived of a coin
in the mouth, refused entry
to the underworld.
It makes me think
of all the bodies
in this life, deprived
of basic coin, the ability
to move forward or even
to go back to anything
like safety, never mind
a real life, a wanted one,
forced to use the body
like the coin it really is
until it’s simply spent
on a hostile shore.

This story too large,
too everlasting,
I look to the owl.
Its cape of feathers
mottled light and dark,
its deep stillness
a tease, as though
we could ever claim
what appears to be
all the time in the world
to consider, holding time
at bay with just a look,
those ink-black eyes
like coins holding all
that lies within,
that lies ahead.