Standing in a gentle surf
of fresh green grass
some thirty yards
from red-dirt shore
where saplings wave,
a young dad keeps half
an eye on paddling kids
about his feet
but looks skywards,
holds fast a hand-line,
slim and taut as new-strung
fencing wire, much like
the man

Lugged up by force
in gusting tides
of autumn air that swirls
and dances with dry leaves,
the line supports an orange hawk
that lures the younger,
foolish wisps of cloud
to earth

These days the leafy trees
on shore are tall,
dwarf an older man
who stands alone
and not so taut
in that green tide,
but still holds fast
to slender hand-line,
looks to the heavens,
tries to lure the clouds
to earth -- his orange raptor
hovers high
in fading light.


© David Nourse 2010


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