Conversations With Owls

Voices lift the silence-
blanketing blued snow-
whitened twilight asking
without seeking
answer through frost-
held stillness,
"Who? Who, who? Who?"

Warmth unfeigned lifts
my answer- I-
who am drifted
unlike he- whose
quizzical brows
rise belied by
his indifferent
flight.

*If you can guess based on textual clues what kind of owls I was talking to and what other kind of owl I made reference to in this poem, I will give you a cookie. If I can find you, and if I happen to have a cookie with me at the time, that is...