3-15 Hollow Wood

I often quote NA’s maxim” Are you going to let him or her live rent-free inside your head?”

Hollow Wood


I am like an owl of the desert.

—Psalm 102:6.


The slight arced over ten years

like a ruddy owl winging over a clearing at sunset.

Through seasons it perches and rises, perches and rises;

Molting feathers pierce soft ground

like quill pens inking dark spots.

Broods of owlets peer

from hollows in the wood

and in my grizzled beard.


The trifle arches its talons over a decade

curling back at me. I hatch the memory.

Owl eyes see best in darkness.

Under a crescent moon

hooting sounds louder and louder

as shadows of wings beat away light.


My prayers rise like buzzards on thermal gusts.

How long will tons of feathers smother me

as I lie awake in the wood,

hiding Your face from me?