Crossing the harbor bridge hear
the great blue squawk though you can’t
see it. Notice the otter. Pass
the fish-cleaning station & nearly
forget to notice the bevy of black-
crowned nights, asleep. Gasp,
look up. Blue glides
toward a treetop, shies
away, strokes a circle & angles
down again, gracefully lands.
High in the foliage not to be seen.
Hadn’t you noticed you wouldn’t have known.
Great blue steers obliquely to
this place & ruminates alone.
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