Through morning fog I search,
wings heavy with dampness,
thwack thwack thwacking
as I skim the mudflats,
heron looking up as she picky-toes
along the shore,
a sudden rustle in the grasslands:
small fur creature scurrying to hide,
Raven racing me to breakfast,
I swoop, I miss,
flurry of wings brown and black,
small creature in its hole.
I retreat to the topmost scrag,
feathers and spirit ruffled,
and I cry out.
Imagined for Kim's prompt at Verse First: I Cried Out.