Stillness: Gown of peau de soie
in whispered pearl;
bandeau of blue-grey velvet;
and alder’s barren limbs
a dark embroider:
Skirt the shade of morning mist,
(or the smoke from musket fire?)
Movement: Eight bufflehead adrift
in idle congregation.
They dip and disappear in silent
syncopation, while I,
a ballroom spy,
espy an Osprey lift in lazy arc,
then vanish at the horizon:
A necklace, unclasped, slipped
safe within history's bodice,
(or a yoke, at last, released?)