I sat abut a duck today, him waddling wayward through the lillied deep.
And I clapped my stale coffee against the rock that sees it rain,
Blowing over wilted feathers as candles needing to be snuffed.
He triumphed over wind and careening circles on the tide:
There was a wicked grin that passed him by beneath a tree,
Dead and fallen to a weep beneath the ringlet clouds above.
I should have known this mallard mare, I found myself believing:
If at all I’ve known this tree or that, and wades of water winding.
I should have known this handsome boy the day his grin was born.