The Hawk and the Rat

The hawk circles the grassy field of for a rat.
Studies it with a calm precision, like it was

Always going to be this way, that the rat must die
And the hawk must live, and it is the nature of love.

The warm breeze, a loft under my wings. The blue
Sky above and into the endless distance, my playground.

The cool ground under its soft belly. The green
Grass all around limiting sight, its prison.

It has no where to go. I will feed upon it until we are one
And, of it, there is left nothing.