Project Description


A gyrfalcon stares through the camera lens,
            opalescent eye a world entire.

I am swept into its atmosphere, caught
            by its pearly beak. To one side,

a hater types a disdainful photoshopped, bent
            on puncturing communion.

Why do you always sink? inquires the bird’s
            cocked head. I don’t know,

I reply. Perhaps it’s our leaden marrow,
            heavy skin. I crave

your herringbone feathers, your pinnate clouds.
            Every day, we ramp up damage.

Teach us, instead, to ride contemplative thermals.
            The gyrfalcon has no time

for this. Her empty branch makes it plain,
            Save yourselves.

Devon Balwit

Devon Balwit writes in Portland, Oregon. She has five chapbooks out or forthcoming: How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press); Forms Most Marvelous (dancing girl press); In Front of the Elements (Grey Borders Books), Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders Books); and The Bow Must Bear the Brunt (Red Flag Poetry). Her individual poems can be found in The Cincinnati Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Stillwater Review, Red Earth Review, The Inflectionist, The Ekphrastic Review, Rattle, and more.