(Pacific Golden Plover)
On a green landscaped stretch
overlooking the ocean
stands a lone bird,
brown in October,
radiant in April,
one leg stuck in its feathers
as a gentile man of old
might stuff his hand
in the right pocket
of a suit jacket;
a sharp dark face,
dashing white collar,
exotic slits for eyes;
no call or cry or chirp.
Though its diamond raiment
glows,
it is exalted not
for flesh tearing claws,
fierce hooked beak
or symbol of might,
but for its stature:
brilliant in obscurity,
noble and serene,
gravitas in the grass.