I don't know where the owls go when they leave this place, or if they
never leave, but simply leave off calling sometimes in their hollow
voices. But tonight they are here: one in a redwood beyond the
creek, one high in the fir tree above the house. Rappelled through
their voices, those three long vowels the darkness speaks in, I forget
my own worthlessness which has troubled me all day.
-- Gary Young, from Even So: New and Selected Poems