i sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
inaction, no falsifying dream
between my hooked head and hooked feet:
or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.
the convenience of the high trees!
the air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
are of advantage to me;
and the earth's face upward for my inspection.
my feet are locked upon the rough bark.
it took the whole of Creation
to produce my foot, my each feather:
now I hold Creation in my foot
or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
i kill where I please because it is all mine.
there is no sophistry in my body:
my manners are tearing off heads -
the allotment of death.
for the one path of my flight is direct
through the bones of the living.
no arguments assert my right:
the sun is behind me.
nothing has changed since I began.
my eye has permitted no change.
i am going to keep things like this.
ted hughes 1960