Hawks, Etc. Poem by Elysabeth Faslund

Hawks wheel and dive this too early morning.
Night.
Not like that fool--Chestah Cheetah.
He don't go crunch.
He goes up and folds on down support.
Proud bird with a misprint for a tail.
Vocal is me.

Like I was asking two eclipses ago,
Where is the sun tonight?
Running along the dark side of the moon.
dim, dark as lemonade, blackern black,
Ratta, tat, tat.

Singing in the rain. What a glorious feeling,
I'm happy again...502 years ago, by some
calendar, maybe Mayan, or justified
Herringbone terrific in off the shoulder
boring.
Clock, docka doc.