You point out an eagle floating
in a foreverness of blue, but I
have just spent the morning in a
mangrove puddle by the sea hunting
for hermit crabs with three small boys—
scrabbling under rocks for sandy trophies,
plopping them gently back into saltiness,
keeping a tally of each scuttling shell (some
as tiny as a baby’s tooth)—gasping at
almost imperceptible claws and mustard
seed eyes poised on fragile stalks—
we talk about homes and hiding…

so later when I’m striding along a stretch
of golden beach with you, gazing upwards,
searching for the soar and sweep of
giant wings—I see nothing.