She is an owl
A creature of the night.
Her days are drowsy
Spent in a semi-slumbering state.

In the light
She takes only a passing interest
In places
In people
In things.
Her wide eyes look
But see only what
They must.

Until the night.
She begins to come alive.
She rouses herself
And things
Of the places she will go
Of the people she will see
Of the victims she will
Take
Her hands are talons
To hold fast her prey
She flies into
The night.