On Halloween he flew into my window.
I did not hear the awful crunching thud.
I only saw the eerie image, face
and wings, his powder left upon my pane
when sun’s illuminating breath revealed
this apparition. Huge round hollow eyes
unseeing, stared blankly, no threat to mice,
unnerving to me, this day when dead souls wander.
Coincidence can seem like planned
design
And often drives imagination wild.
The owl, I know, was just a bird, confused
by light, transparency beyond his lore.
He was unlucky: wild in mankind’s world.
The ghost I thought I saw was just an imprint.
