I double-take my double take, adjust the view-
finder over fields diagonally furrowed.
Latching onto a falcon’s dive is purely
a matter of point-the-bins-and-see.
I can’t see the aftermath of its swoop
on an idle dabbler, but somehow I trap
the peregrine’s flight across the lagoon,
packed with avocets, teal and widgeon,
which freak into the air, as if a match has
been lit in a room full of flammable gas.