Hawk
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There are many ways to perish,
or to flourish. How old pain,
for example, can stall us
at the threshold of function.
Memory: a golden bowl,
or a basement without light.
For which reason the nightmare
comes with its painful story
and says: you need to know this.
Some memories I would give
anything to forget. Others
I would not give up upon
the point of death, they are
the bright hawks of my life.
—Mary Oliver
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Poem: Incident of the Hawk-Watch
Poem: the earth is a living thing
Poem: I Don’t Know What You’re Called, I’ll Call You by Your Sounds
Poem: Illinois: At Night, Black Hawk's Statue Broods
Poem: Deer’s Breath of Every Color
Poem: Blind Boone’s Apparitions
Poem: Counting What the Cactus Contains
Poem: You and I Saw Hawks Exchanging the Prey
Poem: “I am here because somebody survived”
Poem: California Hills in August
Poem: Trying to See Auras at the Airport
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NASA Warns Space Hawk Has Swooped In And Picked Up Earth For Nest
Olympic Divers Tormented By Hawks That Built Nest On Nearby Platform
The joy and agony of loving Tony Hawk