patience is the key.
long legs pull endlessly
through murk and mud,
its neck arched, prehistoric beak stretched
as if willing forward the entire body
step by step. slowly
it wades through ages until, finally,
the s of its neck tightens into a tense curl,
pincer pointed, eyes flashing —
it strikes —
with a splash, its beak emerges;
an orange blur wriggles briefly between two bills
only to disappear in seconds
down down the long, feathered gullet.
on two twigs emerging from dark depths,
their length doubled in the mirror below
it rises up to full height and flaps once, twice, thrice —
until a bare streak in the sky.
gone as quick as it came
to who knows where
who knows why.