Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Sand Martins

make nuanced, meticulous flips
above the shallows

on whose shimmer reflections of willows
sprawl from the ait

until they’re breasted into ripples
by a red-crested pochard

nibbling a female’s tail
with its fuchsia-lipstick bill,

as the martins torpedo towards their nest-hole
in the stone embankment,

one squeezing inside, just past the other.

1 comment:

Beth said...

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