Crucible

 

Above, the goshawk flashes

smoke tipped wings,

a dark blaze across smudged blue sky.

 

Such a bare chested faith in

feathers,

thermals,

hollow bones.

 

Does it dare you to follow,

to believe?

 

Trust

isn’t about courage

or skill.

Watch the hawk

unfolding,

falling,

lifting through resistance,

defenses withdrawn.

 

Grace is a boundless

crucible.

Without it,

wings are ash

on the ground.