In front of the causeway,
in the haze and heat,
they dash on a straight line
skimming the water-skin.
Jet black, jet speed.
Impressing themselves
on the horizon’s veil
for a few instants, then
fading, not leaving a trace.
Transiting? How fast?
Idle curiosity.
They are just
fast. And neat.
Precise in the heat.
Like the shine on some
crabs’ armor, here
on the stones nearby.
A few crabs staying still
before scuttling back in.
A few seconds' shine
for a few instants welding
immobility and speed,
like the heart in silence,
like the Gods
who have no need.
3 comments:
Fine poem. Very moving, and with a fab' final 6 lines.
cormorants are fascinating birds, you capture them well here
Lovely words - beautifully written.
Anna :o]
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