Solo heron’s slow
clear compass point
spans the seething highway.
Three swans travers
a rutted county lane
a laboring triangle
white against steel cloud
pinions whistling
wingbeats shearing the air.
An osprey scopes the bay
above the high shore road
mesmerizing fish
with godlike upward gyres
before the spearing dive.
A wood duck fusses her neat,
queuing children to the verge,
retreats in panic
from the sudden squeal of tires.
In the ordinary light of day
a small mad bird
divebombs a gloating crow
away from it’s nesting tree
hidden by the roadside.
Epics glimpsed, speeding by,
avian tragedy strikes swiftly,
moments in the mind’s sky,
what we thing we see.
~from Still Dances (2015)
