Lady With A Falcon
Gentleness and starvation tame
The falcon on this lady’s wrist,
Natural flight hooded from blame
By what ironic fate or twist?
For now the hunched birds contained flight
Pounces on her inward air,
To plunder that mysterious night
Of poems blooded as the hare.
Heavy becomes the lady’s hand,
And heavy bends the gentle head
Over hunched and brooding bird
Until it is she who is hooded
Lady, your falcon is a peril,
Is starved, Is mastered, but not kind.
The bird who sits your hand so gentle,
The captured hunter hunts your mind.
Better to starve the senseless wind
Than wrist a falcons stop and start:
The bolt of flight you thought to bend
Plummets into your inmost heart
Poem By May Sarton.
I take it the image is of a Flemish tapestry, fifteenth century. It is noted before the first line of the poem in the poetry book. Replaced her so it did not feel confusing.
(So what do you think about this puzzle? Readers?)