Painted Owl Bedroom

An eerie mildness has reigned
In North America’s west
All autumn, freakishly warm,
Arizona to BC,

The end of the Holocene,
As I live and breathe,
Man lucky enough to be

House guest in a guest bedroom,
Man lucky enough to be
Fed and sheltered penniless,
Man lucky enough to be

Breathing and walking around
With a hundred healed fractures,
Man lucky enough to be

Breathing mild November breeze,
Staring at a painted owl
Staring back at me, that’s me,
Man lucky enough to be.

The end is always coming,
Never remaining the end
By the time it reaches me.

Life and transfiguration,
The painted owl that can’t see
Sees beyond any of these.