Watching a spot of slow water moving I come to realize
I am watching the still reflection of a kite hawk, poised
and growing larger so dropping straight down to the water.
We occupy our different spaces; we gaze in the same place;
it’s the prey she sees; I see her. She is wide of eye and certain
of purpose, expertly shaping the air and sky with white wings
until the surface is chaos, rippled circles and spinning distinctions.
Only the sky remains behind, the constant sky, where I see in it
only the water-without-the-hawk. These meetings unlikely:
The hawk and reflection, the slow city river and the blank sky,
on our separate seekings, leaving out the crucial invisibles
that allow us both to see some blindnesses are necessary.