The kind that pulls all of the air
out of the Room Without Walls.
The wind is afraid to press on.
The smallest of birds
bows with great dignity
beneath the leaves of the holly tree.
The kind that demands respect
and accepts open-mouthed fear
as appropriate recompense.
The kind that misses
not one single flicker of movement
in the shadows of the Room Without Walls.
The kind that always demands
the most impressive of locations
with the vastest of views
for the smoothest of departures
across the water and the tangled ravines
to the rest of his domain.
All but the noisy and rude crows
honor your presence
with their silence and lowered heads.
All but the black feathered ones
accept your ownership
of all that can be seen
with just one sharp golden eye.
(He is the largest specimen I have ever seen and paused on the side of my river just long enough for a photo.)