Deadly Intent.
Over his cliff-top territory glides the bird,
Silent he hunts in an easy-wing searching.
Lone rider of wind-swept
lunchtime sky,
the kestral stays motionless
hovering high
for moments while scanning,
with raptor eyes
every nuance of movement
for useful cause
to swoop with deadly intent,
extended claws
now knifing and open wide
he gracefully dives
leaving me awed and sighing.
This time, as often, he rises with naught.
Not always goes he into dusk full-bellied.
He must keep alerted for
waterless rodents
or surfacing underground
snuffling moles,
all fare for a keen predator
bridging his bets
for needed dinner by more
windy-edged
fighting for better wing-fold
in down-winding
spin of near life and death
speed in frightening
stoop his skill is tried again.
I caught the glory of his claws retracting,
A kestral never shows less than majesty.