I raced a hawk
On the way home.

I had the gearshift
Under my trembling knuckles
And a deserted highway
Waiting for the impact
Of my screaming tires.

The hawk was armed
With the open sky,
Three dimensions in which
He could escape gravity.
Unlike me, he came
With his own wings.

It was actually fair,
Or so I contend.
Both of us masters
Of our respective elements.
Both of us feeling
Absolute freedom, but in
Our totally different versions.

Neither he nor I
Will ever know who
Won and who lost.

The race itself is
The only thing that
Actually mattered to us.