This morning I interrupted a hawk
at his breakfast in my garden. Blood
and feathers in the snow. Where
there is prey, there will be predators.

Snow keeps falling, a swirl of lace
outside my windows. Amazing Grace
plays on the radio, reminding me
that I am wretched. But there is grace.

Grace in blood and feathers, grace
in the play of predator and prey, grace
in the hawk lifting from the snow, grace
in its falling, falling.