Life on the Prairie

Had he glanced up from the grass,
he would've seen you, diving silently
against a blinding white sun,
and frozen
beneath your unsheathed daggers,
your spread of black-fingered wings.

But he was starving,
digging for roots,
and saw only a flicker
of your shadow before the stab,
the upward jerk.

On ascent, he learned
the infinity of height,
the sky splitting
to your cry.

Scott Speck
10/28/2000