The cut

See here, on my palm:
a still-bloodied cut
where my falcon’s talon
grazed a hand.
He’s off
to look for prey.
Never jessed, 
he sits by me,
or sometimes on my arm,
turning side-to-side.
Alert to motion,
he goes to feed
in moon-lit worlds.
He comes home
to groom his wings.

to mf on kc 2012

(original title: The scratch)

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