Brisk neat beaked ovals
twig-thin twinklelegs
quick and nimble as harpsichord toccatas
criss-cross arrow-tracks
blurred by the tide-wash
popping glossy bubbles with
rose-prickle claws
forth and backing minikins
scavenging crunchies on the wild frontier
all together now
open all the flickerflash
foam-white cloud-grey
featherwings
flying fast over rollers
many minis single mind
turning all together like a shower in a gust
skimming over wave-humps
swooping through the spraywhirl
alight between roars
to dimple the ripplepop sky
Sandpiper and Reflection
If it saw its companion
abstract as shadow
but feathered with replica tints
it might wonder
who moves and who mimes
and why does it fade where the sand is dry
and where does it go when I fly?
What world does it live in
this image of plumage and shank
that stabs the same prey
that skims the same path
across azure and gold
and breaks into rippling fragments
when the wind gusts
sudden
and cold?
Small birds
How quick they are
a page is turned
a body stretches
cracking out a studious posture
and
off
they
dart
flurrying the breeze with millisecond wings.
If life were innocent
they’d settle on my knee
tickle me with prickle feet
mate upon my shoulder
quivering with squeaks
and semi-quavers.
They hop across the compost
two… three yards away
mining a seam of last week’s rice
So deft are they, so dapper
with their quick neat movements
staccato glances
Tiny eyebeads
bright as dew
scan the undersides of leaves
examine tufts for titbits
small birds
chirruping like silver hinges.
They resurrect the sense
of an enchanted world
glimpsed and half-believed
disappearing when we turn to look.