ENCOUNTER

Just before
first light
he lies awake

Silence
rustles his thin
curtain

Sleep
has not quite
welcomed him

He can’t be sure
what he feels
tugging
at his rough
worn blanket

It’s stronger
than a red-tail
hawk’s grip
puncturing
a mourning dove’s
soft neck

He’s afraid
so keeps his eyes
shut tight

never noticing
the last
light of stars

fill
his threadbare
blanket’s
largest holes

Paul B. Roth