The Duck

Duty-bound, the dog and I made that one

last trip outside before bed, a spiritual

quest, of sorts, under a celestial sky,

illuminating our place, small here in its vastness;

and tonight, late dusk, we flushed out a duck

we had not seen before, hidden in the shadows

below the bird feeder and gleaning what seeds he could,

seeds left behind, dropped by the smaller birds hurriedly

feeding throughout the day, flittering among the trees,

each with his own voice, his own song loudly sung.

Thus disturbed, his wings beat back against gravity,

and breaking free from the earth’s pull,

he rose up as if on a circular stairway,

climbing into the night sky and the heavens above,

silent but for the heavy beating of his wings.