Poets love stuff by the side of the road:
dead animals, an abandoned shopping cart
in the middle of nowhere –
notes in the margin.
From Driving Under the Influence, Jacqueline Berger
Dappled falcons claim the crosses of the power line poles,
their patience for a twitch in the fields
inarguably certain.
Snow on the wheat stubble is barely enough
of an attempt at the expression of snow,
snow forming the idea of itself in the stinging air,
Later, it might fall later,
but close enough to press the button on the dashboard for heat
a few more times,
hear the thin buzzing of the blower engage,
then compose yourself.
You pass three falcons in a mile or so,
though you forgot to count the markers diligently,
then catch a fourth,
circling up to tuck wings
for an eager descent.
Matthew Bullen is a recent graduate of Lancaster University’s Creative Writing Masters program. A web developer by trade, he lives in Los Angeles.