Thomas Ganey reads “A Moment,” a selection from his book Undetected Rainbow.

I recall
It was not an interval. It occurred
In scarcely a moment; I saw
My two resident squirrels, the two
Sporting round and round a spot of copper leaves
And on a winter limb above the two a great hawk
In sharp sun. I knew the hawk could not be wary
Of me at my window; I saw my giddy squirrels
Were unaware of that taloned spy clutching above;
So, quick I feared that my squirrels, the hawk,
And I must share a swift change fierce and unforgiving
Neither they nor I prepared. I imagined there
An onset, an inception of savage certainty,
The act of razor circumstance
Which rescinds trust,
Which severs peace,
That all must fear, and I
Felt that, there I felt that apprehension—
It came, a tautness, instant
In the bare expectant moment—
Before the large bird opened its wide wings brown and white
And from the branch in a scant flutter eased
And ascended skyward, grace in form
And perfect beauty as it gained an arc.