The Owl

I thought I could
Capture truth like an owl captures
A mouse
An owl with a keen eye
Gliding silently
Grasping the soft body
With sharp claws
Ripping before
Choking down the
Then regurgitating
The skin and
I would shriek

I did not know
Would not know
That truth was not
Found in blood and bones
Truth was in the
The small ways of
The mouse
As he made his silent
Way through tall grass
Regarded sunsets
From overgrown roots
Cleaned his whiskers with
Small paws
And shared whispers
With other small creatures
Whispers heard on
The breeze
I would never
Never know the truth
Because I ate
The mouse
And spat it out


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