Tears and loss of life-
I looked up and saw a hawk creating brushstrokes in a cloud.
Declaration of death imminent-
I heard the mighty voice of a hawk declare “clouds aren’t sculpted by man.”
Memories and photographs, yellowing pages of time-
I felt the power of God declaring supremacy and reign.
Brushstrokes of hawk etched out a tapestry of life-
I commanded the words “she will live”.
And I will sing it,
And I will write it,
And I will paint it,
As long as the wing of a hawk touches the sky.