Observation on a Tuesday
As pasta is when you went past al dente
But relieved none the less that it was done,
the molehill had been conquered.
We loafed around on my couch
with intentions of going to the beach
because, you know, when the sun shines the day has to be seized.
Instead we just walked along the harbour,
and then went our separate ways to our separate beds.
The surface shivered
the way water pulsates when a cellphone vibrates next to it.
It was a glorious day.
Sunshine, finally sunshine.
I caught movement on the right
out of the corner of my eye.
Next to pier there was a bird of some kind,
in its grayish brownishness.
He stuck its head partially underwater,
scanning, scouring for fish,
just dipping his head in.
With a sudden burst of energy he is submerged
paddling in slow motion
through the clear water.
I watch as his little feet kick- one two three four times.
The smallest sound and the bird is back,
a fish in the beak
and air in his lungs.
This happens time after time:
the dedication to finding food
every time a success.
He proceeds like this along the length of the sidewalk
I stalk him as he glides soundlessly through his life.
He is the centre of expanding circles.
Always the circle
in between waves of magnetic lines.
This beauty of a bird
This nucleus of a small life,
and no one sees him.