We stalk the banks

of swamps and slow rivers

in silence, our voices too full

of clam shells for hunting.

We blossom in violence

spring-loaded heads

striking the mud

for insects, salamanders, frogs

our feathers arsenals

of indigo knives,

necks adorned

with fishbone needles.

Yet we fly so tenderly

blooming from rocks

slow wingbeats

folding the air

toward soft chests.

For some, we are easy,

conspicuous targets

for others, kites

pulling our own

strings through sunset

nectarine eyes

in winter’s bare trees.

You often see us

alone and wonder

how we mate

but you haven’t seen

what births us—the building,

the gathering, the shared

warmth of bodies.

Alaskan coastline

campus quad fountain

we will adapt.

We don’t come seeking

attention

tracing water

with a seamstress touch

but our exits are

subtle as drag queens

dropping coins

for starving poets.

Wherever we go

the marshes may dry

and the slick-calm ponds

may grow scales of ice—

they have, for centuries

but so have we persisted.

Soon, more than this,

we will know abundance

our beaks writhing with fish.

————————————–

Laura Casteel called us from Pittsboro, NC.

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