The Owl

The owl waits patiently on the branch
Its head full of songs
Trills and arpeggios
We bow in anticipation
Wipe the dander from the sheets
Blow clouds out of the window
We catch its eye
It is jet black
Like a marble shining in the night
Head twisted
Feathers dusted
We listen for its melody
Catch the light
Hold onto it like pebbles
Talons stretched
Beak sharp and primed
The owl has a thousand stories
We listen to it quietly and carefully
Rest a while on the branch
If we could have a thousand dreams
The owl would carry us home.