at pond beside a library
in midst of urban desert sprawl
They come, the ducks,
out of winter to sanctuary of sorts.
People too, like us, with cameras,
haphazard ornithologists.
We stop motion birds taking flight,
fiddle with the lens, crouch and stretch
like cranes upon the marsh.
What little bird is that tweeting out
a single note sweet so sweet
so sad so sad over and again?
But we move on …
the pond is prodigious set upon a new year.