Charles Pierre


From this teeming
birth rock and
sedentary nest,

this cramped
island’s squabbling

I fly to unsettled waters,
my one companion
the fugitive wind.


No vision this
white flash
against the dun sky,

but a pulsing form,
a feathered blur,
a bird plummeting

through air, splash, and up
with a wriggling gift
from the cold shallows.