For high above, flew the cranes
I wonder what ancient star song lays
rolled like a message in the bottle of their hollow bones
that moves forward their dinosaur bodies.
Probably hunger or thirst or fear.
And down below, we walked
Muley said that the hunted cannot be strong,
The egrets, small creatures with yellow legs
and feathers that seem an impossible white,
peck and jab at the sand, hunting.
I think maybe their hunted,
the tiny, muscular sand fleas,
are strong, and willing.
But it’s unfathomable, really.
Time and sand and death
and birds and all.