That’s what hunger can drive you to

said Brian pointing at the Harrier hawk

diving for a late-flying godwit

half a moment behind the flock.

 

Little chance the hawk’s slow stalking body

could knife past the long-beaked bird.

Still, he tries, before slow circling

his surrender at the screech of the only word

 

uttered by their one tongue at the ascension.

Below, anemones, the color of candle wax

dry to death in the sun, while sea stars

pull apart mussels lying too low on stone backs.

 

Here is where my hunger drives me,

leading me to the sea’s grassy edge

where I hear nothing but, above me, the screech

of laughing girls dancing on the sandstone ledge.