Owl Aware with Saguaros

(January 2021. Written at Re:Source during a night of much moonlit poetry, having just returned to desert solitude. The owl and the saguaro are two key symbols in my poetry, and here they come together well. I believe that I am the owl. And I believe that the saguaro blossom will redeem American poetry from the wasteland.)

I am standing on my busroof under the stillfull moon
And an owl has hooed and I have hooed back.
My who echoes through the valley washed below.
It drips to the canyon,
A droplet too small to see.
I remember— I am the owl—
And my vision widens.
The constellations I recognize all around
Inform the saguaros and myself,
The alien here on Mars going native;
They re-mind me
That I am a desert owl
Of pure snow—
That I can see hear and soar to all and know
That awareness is compassion everywhere I gaze
That I am now, here, forever, always.

I ought to be aware with the saguaros,
Composed of silhouette and moonlight.
Perched up here at saguaro height
I can see a few neighbors eye to eye
(Although many more are much taller than I)
And in saying hi to the dozen in circular sight
I stop— I recognize a friend in the night—
That saguaro, behind Stoop at April’s ending,
The first saguaro I saw blossom,
The first fruit of my faith, the desert spring,
The beautiful thing first happening,
The belief overflowing, the flower—
The flower!
And a summit and a flower there
A saguaro and a flower there,
Perennial and real,
The fruit of all the desert’s waters,
The slightest rain bursting forth
From careful rearrangement
Pink and bountiful and beautiful.

I remember the blossom of ancient patience,
I remember that writing is a form of memory,
I remember that place is a form of memory,
I remember that living things are a form of memory.