You have found another world—
grasses shimmering, the latent fire
of chaparral— out of the owl’s sweep.

Beneath the killing eye,
a morsel in the dusk-filled weeds.
A fir branch rustles sharp— Father,

they carry their dying dark and green,
a sacrifice to the silhouette of pines,
who never cry at sunset. You taught

how men are dangerous, and what
we all destroy when we swerve from
what we were meant for. Into the night

your souls will go out—
sister stars, laughing.