The owl called Grand Father

An omniscient owl, a sublunary being with the characteristics of outer space
Photo by Dirk van Wolferen on Unsplash
In the gnarly tree is an owl called Grand Father
who can talk, though not everyone knows
he talks,
to most he's just known to follow folks
with his eyes, two suns eclipsed,
head rotating as they move along.
Rats, cats and dogs don't exist within his orbit,
His wings darkening midnight. 
He never asks who 
because because he already knows
the answer, relaying it to whoever's worthy,
his only companions the stars.


The cumulonimbus stands over you watching

Cumulonimbus, the thunderhead cloud, representing regretful moments hanging over you to rain down unexpectedly
Photo by Graeme Cross on Unsplash
Strain, climb up hills and trees, 
gain  followers,
construct a leaf pile in the shape of Machu Picchu,
the cumulonimbus stands above you watching
with photos you've long deleted,
bringing rain down to all in a moment proper,
on a day you've forgotten your umbrella
so your pants can stick to your legs 
and your feet can slosh in your shoes
and your eyes can become red, dripping
sky on your face, indistinguishable from tears,
because the grass must be fed,
damn your dignity.