What the hawk perhaps sees

A quilt of color lies beneath it,
As it slices the heavens
Like a blade through margarine.
The geometric pattern seen only
By the vigilant eyes
Of the single screech skimming
Over, around, and through the clouds
What a wonder to behold.
I might wonder if he
Views an equally stunning prospect.
I wish to ask if he sees
A flowing river flanked by lush,
Green, rolling mountains that climax
In stunning ivory apexes.
I only dream of what he sees
As he flips through the sky,
For I know it is an image
That will never amaze my eyes