Laertes and His Prayer to Athena

i have walked through

the cool pine forests

surrounding ithaca

quiet and alone

fraught with grief

in every season upstate

new york has to offer

yet i have never

seen an owl

resting in soft

boughs of green

or gazed upon one

surveying her fiefdom

from a broad

linden arching in

the vast arboretum

but on the trail at dawn in

my salomon hiking boots in

my moss-gray rei attire

i have heard so many calling

i am so weary

from this waiting

aging full of fading notions

stolen from tomes

i've long ago forgotten

i am so slow now

with the wisecracks

barely able to recall the stories

and smart-ass comments

i so glibly tossed in the warm air

to deflect and parry

some tragic hero's

clever banter

next year i will

be eighty-three

goddess what wisdom

still lies in hiding

the feathered beauty of

these birds of prey from me