Mauritius Owl

(Extinct 1859)

Especially when you’re deep in your soundest sleep,
I try not to wake you.

It would be a shock too much to comprehend,
my swiveling head over your head, my yellow eyes:

blank mutilated moons, our crossing, an intersecting
highway stopped at a blinking red light.

If I whispered into your dreaming ear,
I’d narrow the whole world down to a thrust of breath,
a hot prediction to hypnotize your brain.

But some words are better unsaid. Some words,
left untold, are mysteries that warm at their own pace.

It’s the lack of movement while dreaming that worries         me.
My wings never flew. If there was somewhere to fly to,

I was too consumed by my own importance, fringing up       my feathers,
perched on a tree branch wide-eyed and naive.

And here you dream in the free world, not knowing
soon you will meet me in the dark, in the moonless sky,
on the dry highways of your losses. I will be your head.

I am your eyes. I will be your pet, the owl that holds you
captive at the desolate intersection of extinction.

Christina Matthews