Orion has sunk East-nor-East,
the dawn chorus spins air into the ear.
For breakfast we peel south, a band
of Pelicans chase a fishing boat upriver,
An Osprey flies against the sun –
Bandits at 12 o’clock.
I owned a rifle have no recall of seeing
my first kill probably a Native American
in Rawhide. They never bled in black
or white, or the blood sank quickly.
A patient Pelican is waiting to be fed.
Great Egret statues shine in the lagoon.
When did I see my first Osprey? Where?
Surely that is worth remembering.
