The path was purple in the dusk.
I saw an owl, perched,
on a branch.
And when the owl stirred, a fine dust
fell from its wings. I was
silent then. And felt
the owl quaver. And at dawn, waking,
the path was green in the
May light.
From The Redshifting Web: Poems 1970-1998. Copyright © 1998 by Arthur Sze. Used by permission of The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.