I WAS WATCHING THE OSPREY
gliding along the tree line a smooth long nothingness & then—
if I’d blinked I’d have missed it— tilt, plummet
a straight line crashing into water a burst of wingbeats as
it bore itself back to air, nothing having
been caught. I was watching the osprey gliding along
flying smooth then piercing the water piercing
its own reflection wing-
beats thrashing air beads of water everywhere
nothing having been
caught I watched the osprey repeating over & over
its simple thought I like a nothingness
a scooped-out fruit—no—not like that, like
my eyes, ospreys
looking along the tree line tree after tree reflected
in the water which reflecting the sky appeared blue—& reflecting me too
was the osprey’s gliding & plummeting
which I began to think of
as a way of living—the falling & the coming up
empty—not so much the failure to catch as
the freedom to continue carrying forth
what can’t be abandoned
This poem appeared in Issue 5 of Old Pal, summer of 2022. Cover photograph by Darla Mottram.