Great Horned Owl

In the cold darkness
the sound of air
against down:
a glaring silhouette.

A wisdom of owls,
whoo-whooing
the arcana of night,
the space between stars.

Christ hunted me,
threatened a Rapture;
there was no good sleep.

Christ’s flesh
has been consumed,
owl pellets all around.

Red-winged Blackbird

Flickering over the fields
of Kentucky, red-orange
flashed against the black,
a foraging male.

At a revival near Paducah,
another flash, the Holy Ghost
from my grandfather’s hand,
cast out another demon.

I didn’t understand
the females were flecked
brown and white.

Nor do I understand
the miracle
his finger wrought.

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Originally from Los Angeles, Michael Hardin lives in rural Pennsylvania with his wife, two children, and two Pekingeses. He is the author of a poetry chapbook, Born Again (Moonstone Press 2019), and has had poems published in Seneca Review, Connecticut Review, North American Review, Quarterly West, Gargoyle, Texas Review, Tampa Review, among others. He has recently finished his memoir, Touched.