I am a smoky owl,
my eyes see best at night.
I am a disconsolate crow,
with a voice like sand.
I walk the path of the tree,
ever watchful red squirrel.
My arms are hawk wings,
slow beat through rain.
My feet are delicate,
the deer in me is swift.
I move low to the ground,
serpent in a stone wall.
I am the heron gate
to the still world of spirit.
poem: Sarah Fuhro
Pottery and photo: Sarah Fuhro
