By The Plain

By Daniel Mapp

Their dance my I catches as I watch,
Carefully they are guided.
The air current directs them from the north,
Instructing them their leaning motion.
No longer do I heed the golden stems.
For then I standing looking upward.

It sounds from the blue height,
As I turn then upward.
Against the white star’s light,
He soars hunting.
The wizard titled bird calls once more.
Its pitch predatory and carnivorous.
Dusk nears, so my sight of him grows dim.

In the calm air my name echoes,
She bids me to trend homeward.
Turning I lift a sackcloth,
With portions of the lustrous sea.