Irritated by sweat and exhaustion, 
I heard without seeing 
an owl rush between my raised arm 
and torso, felt the whoosh of flight, 
and then saw its talons 
grasp a field mouse before it disappeared 
into bare branches. Autumn 
arrives so suddenly—you think you have 
weeks left, you think 
time saunters across your horizon 
interminably, you think you’ll notice 
the signs before a predator 
grasps the skin between your shoulder blades, 
curls its claws around your spine and takes you 
you’ll never know where, but somewhere away.