Rara Avis from Issue 93
A drift of white pelicans on the headland.
Closer, along the inlet’s edge, black-necked
stilts, whimbrels and a long-billed curlew.
A dozen blue-winged teal asleep in the tidal creek
and barn swallows, common as the shadflies
they swoop for. The moment of early morning
that is lavender, like the moment when
after a nightmare, the self reunites with
the refrigerator’s hum and the frayed pillow
it can’t sleep without, and there again
on the nightstand a book, say, on loneliness.
I come here for that moment and to find her,
who stands beyond the pelicans at the tip
of the headland, faithful to the distance.
This is not the first time
we have held each other this way,
binoculars trained on binoculars
and behind them the eyes we imagine.