The Owl

The owl
Soared softly on silver
Silent wings
Into empty Utopia.
In unified darkening depths
Carrying away dreams of spiritual soaring
From body and soul and planet
Into heights unknown
Frequented only by the Maker
The ghost that is or was
Is no more.
Barking dogs find scents
And traces
Only a whisper of a fleeting presence
On the dampening dewy grass.
A shiver
A sense of a presence that
Is not seen, the supernatural.
The coolness of the night air
Penetrates the body.
The warmth of the indoors beckons
The bubble bursts and basic
Necessities take priority.
A dream, a sense of unknown
Longing
That even paper and pen
Can never fully encapsulate.