A hawk lifts from the pines and flies toward me across the lake.
It lands on the grassy slope next to where I’m sitting on a blanket.
The hawk grows in size, becoming bigger than I am.
Its eye dominates my field of vision.
I ask the hawk a question about how I should proceed,
and in answer it flies away, back toward the pines.
I try to follow it, but as I reach the middle of the lake,
the hawk dissolves into the sunlight.
My drawing of the hawk from my visualization.
Day four, five-minute mindful writing, a small stone for Writing Our Way Home.
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Published by Christine
Christine Swint’s poems have appeared in Calyx, Birmingham Poetry Review, Slant, a Journal of Poetry, Tampa Review, Heron Tree, Ekphrasis, and others. Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets, and she has won first place prizes from the Georgia Poetry Society and Agnes Scott College. Her first collection, Swimming This, was published in 2015 by FutureCycle Press. She teaches first-year composition at a metro-Atlanta university and writes about poetry, art, hiking, and yoga at Balanced on the Edge, https://balancedonedge.blog
Twitter @christine_swint
View all posts by Christine
My drawing of the hawk from my visualization.
Balanced On the Edge 