Parting is always sorrow,
Fear of uncertainty,
Discontinuity.
These ducks that have made their home
Here are the most beautiful
And precious creatures I've known.
I've depended on
These days we've shared together;
Who says it has to end?
The fears I have for the future.
Granite's adventuring,
I believe he'll return like George.
Even so, Cory
Misses him. As do I.
Will they miss us?
Nothing ties them down,
Inspiring as it is frightening.
We're united by chance.
How could we let them know
We're leaving but will return
To visit them forever?
What compact could be made
To tie our souls to this place,
Returning after time?
I think I'll be visiting
More than twice a week.
Easing into absence.
I can't bear the idea
They might feel they've lost us
Or grieve the lack of us.
Will they start to think,
"Did they move on;"
Well, won't we have?
We've both lived in so
Many different places,
Why not animals too?
Darling Granite, we miss you.
We miss your happy laughter.
We miss your squinching eyes.
I do believe you're safe
And probably not far,
Likely with Patch or Millay.
We've become accustomed
To your familiar smile
And gentle friendliness.
You've been here the longest
Of all the ducks we know.
Your presence is joy's communion.
Always and forever
We will search for your profile
On the grass lounging serenely.
You will always be
Cherished and remembered,
You and all of our friends.
Our hearts have expanded domains
Grown from Granite; from Marble;
From milky-eyed Mama;
From Armor and from Helmet;
From the fly-by-night girls;
And from poor little Miracle.
I swoon for animals;
They understand hello,
But never know goodbye.
I think of Lefty the mallard:
Against all odds, born
With a malformed wing, he thrives.
Lefty and all our friends
Who make this place their home,
Aren't we of them too?
This place, this time, this pond
Has found us all together
In our liberty-laden lives.
I think of Franklin and Percy,
Loyalty and Norm,
Steve and Zebra and Mama;
Helmet, George, and Edgar,
All of whom had left
And yet returned again.
This is what we have chosen.
We all may come and go,
That's how I know it's love.
I know that we'll come back,
And so I do believe
Granite will too.
***
Just yesterday Millay
Came swooping down to greet us.
We instantly knew each other.
The little outline of white
Around her beady eyes;
How she ran to us;
Her single tiny squeak
As she jumped onto the grass
All confirmed it was she.
She said hello then flew off.
I'd bet she's seen Granite.
Tag: birds
Last Walk of the Night
The frogs are echoing from God
Knows where; the new moon is
Here to be missed, and it has rained.
The sky is blank overhead.
It's a navy blue hour,
Lit more by the apartments'
Lamps than anything above
Us and the twinkling blades of grass.
The glittering water is almost asleep,
Softly shifting; planes above
Hum toward TPA,
The city a milky way below.
We stroll the pre-dewed lawns,
One last visit for the night.
On the grass not far from the path
Are groups of little dark spots.
Each one of those tiny shadows
Is a precious friend nestling
Back their sleeping, carbuncled faces,
Resting the white curves of their eyelids.
Talking with Muscovies
Muscovies are delightful companions.
When I approach they hum and purr
And vibrate like little engines
Cooling, then settling down.
When my muscovies are enthused,
(They're not my muscovies,
But I'm their person,)
They pant aloud as if laughing.
Norm is a conversationalist;
He'll announce himself even when hidden.
George and Percy sneeze their greetings
Softly, while father Franklin snorts hello.
Steve and his girl, Zebra, are quiet,
But he'll nod and puff, she'll sweetly coo.
Brothers Edgar and Loyalty
Hype each other up with chants.
Patch squeaks and Mama gently trills,
As do Millay and nested Helmet;
And when he's surrounded by friends,
Granite erupts in exuberant laughter.
Norm gets me a little wet
Norm gets me a little wet
Leaping up from his swim in the pond.
Huffing and panting, he greets me
On the carpet of grass and clover.
He was born to swim.
Every day I see him out there
Bathing, diving; I watch and wave,
Arrested by his beauty.
His downy, feathery breast and head,
Trickling water as he fluffs his crest,
Gleams; shaking off the excess drops,
He beats his wings so close to me.
His red leather mask rings
Around his eyes' amber irises;
They catch the sun when he tilts his head,
As do his iridescent wings.
A single thought, bacterium-sized,
But then pride: he's so comfortable
With me; and thankfulness: he rests
In the bush beneath my window.
Helmet’s Return
Now we see why Helmet was gone of late,
And it comes with quite a revelation:
Helmet is a girl! Had she gone to mate?
She has her nest in the same location
As Mom did, at the laundry room between
The AC unit and wall adjacent.
It's perfect, shortly before this we'd seen
Her reappear amongst this family
Who hatched right there on that very same scene.
Many little soon-to-be progeny
Beneath her downy bosom incubate,
And we pray she's rewarded handsomely.
The second generation to propagate
Since we began to keep tabs on our friends
Is upon us; it's a difficult wait.
It's still months until brooding season ends.
I pray they will be kept safe from the drakes,
Or if birds-of-prey-disguised death descends.
Although anxiety for these ducks makes
Up quite a chunk of my expectant thoughts,
To see them flourish my waiting heart aches.
Little puffs of down all around her dot
Her nest where we counted somewhere around
Eleven eggs within this most blessed spot!
Who can wait to hear that heartwarming sound—
Ducklings cheeping in perfect innocence
As they swarm and skitter across the ground?
This season continues with cryptic hints,
The swapping days of warm and cold belie
Their secret day of hatching's imminence.
Newborn mallards have hatched somewhere nearby,
Perhaps on this first day of the new year.
Soon Helmet's chicks will poke out and arrive.
Though nothing more of the future is clear,
I dream of them joining us in growth here.
Ducks on the Bridge
The evening breezes tossed our hair about
As we approached the wooden bridge's gate.
On the handrails four of our friends were couched,
Enjoying an eminent perch out late.
But when we sidled up to them to scout,
They shifted around. Though we hoped they'd wait,
George decided he would fly; and his flaps
Peppered his adjacent brothers with slaps.
Percy and Norm were standing beside him
As he opened his wings, readying flight.
They seemed bewildered, though not quite frightened;
I saw Norm raise his crest, though it was slight.
They sat with Marble after abiding
Their brother's barrage of blows feather-light.
At last these three lay down in settled ease;
We left them to sleep with the midnight breeze.
Percy and George
Oh Percy and George, you don't know how much
I want to pet you beautiful creatures,
But both of you ducks are beyond my touch.
If those downy white breasts I should reach for,
I know you boys would avoid me, for such
Are wild animals; yet you are teachers:
It's when I calm myself, when I sit still,
You darlings are wont to join me and chill.
Stork and Spoonbill
The stork and roseate spoonbill must be friends.
There's no way around the display we saw.
As the tall stork stooped to the rippling bends
In a three-point stance with its walking jaw,
The spoonbill came swooping; probing it draws
Like a metal detector its flat beak
Back and forth through the water as it trawls
Behind the wood stork's singular technique.
They carry along this way for a streak
Before they happen on the bank of sand.
Together they create a most unique
Sight: the spoonbill prancing while the stork stands.
Then they both settle, basking in the light,
These two wading birds, one pink and one white.
Norm the Duck
Norman is such a friendly guy,
He seems so eager when we appear.
He'll stretch his neck like a giraffe,
Starting to chuckle with Cory and I,
His feathers wagging in the rear;
Cory says his spirit's half-
Puppy how he reacts when he hears
His name: his eyes squinching with glee,
Tipping his head (on our behalf?)
Our hearts swoon with affection when sweet
Norm laughs.
The Limpkin
The limpkin resembles a toppled vase,
Dappled with white spots on its wings
And woody down; and flowing out
Like a rush of water, its neck,
Brilliantly flecked with flashing white,
Ends in its beautiful beak that curves
Very slightly, harpoonlike, probing
Through shallow waters, silt, and clay
For submerged mollusks to pick apart.
Its legs are fully half its height:
Walking sticks deliberate
In planting their quadrupod toes.
The limpkin was endangered once,
Hunted for its plumage's art.
Capricious supply and demand,
The vilest trait of humankind,
Came close to etching its demise;
But thanks is due to providence
Whose power turns curses around.
When the invasive apple snail
Took Florida, the limpkin found
An ecosystem it could thrive
In again, pulling prodigious
Amounts of shells from the freshwater
Marshes and creeks; if not for that,
I may have never had the chance
To see the little limpkin fly
Over the ripples of the pond,
Gliding down to the verdant banks
To trod with twiggy little legs
At the shoreline; where dragonflies,
Blue and pink, black and red,
Glimmering gold and shining jade,
Flit across the surface and mate,
Coupling in flight and performing
Their strange dance on the water's edge.
A place for my poems 