Do you remember the owl
you spotted sitting still as stone
in the tree as we drove
to a friend’s wedding?
What a good omen,
I said.
It must mean my friend
made a wise choice.
You asked me
why I assume such sageness
in that solitary night hunter.
We laughed
about the influence
of cartoons
but I thought about it yesterday
and I remembered that owls
are soundless
even when they fly.
It is this seamless quiet,
unruffled hush
in a busy world,
that makes me even more sure
that inside them
is the purest
clarity.