OWLS IN CALIFORNIA

1 2 1 R O W L S I N C A L I F O R N I A A L E X A N D E R T H E R O U X You will not find owls in California. Round wisdom there in feathered array partners nothing it can find with day. They don’t do well with light, there’s that. Then, land is so divulged there, with trees like voids, scant of bustle, and nothing oval that ever sits in them can focus on what it sees that’s bright. Who cannot consume what it cannot spy, would sulk as a solitary in that state. No fat unblinking calandrius, pointing its sharp beak toward a human sickbed, no sober nigrolineatus used to night, scoping out the mere rustle of leaves, rats, fish, barnmice, or bunnies, wants the kind of hot and brainless funshine Pasadena loves for light. Owls as birds of darkness, with facial disks acoustic, shields that hear, prefer in the doom and gloom to watch with eyes of light 1 2 2 T H E R O U X Y which in a roundness like their heads seek no sunkist misses, no heliopoli but what, seen by shadow and shaped by dark, is, more than fun, already food. ...