Late at night, darkened room,
windows down, a single owl outside.
It has no nest, perches on a branch beside my window.
I don’t sleep when he’s out there,
but I never bring myself to shut the window.
Because who will listen if not me?
He’s got a lot to say, this homeless bird,
and he’s always alone,
Maybe I feel connected to it-
projecting my own loneliness
onto this brown nocturnal owl,
hoping maybe if I let this bird speak
someone will let me, too.