Two

First thing, a blur: tail up, 

down, and up, against

the even-spaced branch of an aerial, against 

the pale grey sweep of sky.  

First thing, I grasp the shape 

as a magpie, alone in the dawn. 

Lately I’ve been feeling out 

the edges of solitude and loneliness.  

Gratitude alights upon my leaden bones 

that I am entire and self-sustaining, 

pleased with my nest and  

little stones, that I keep my 

talons to the bark that can take them.  

But later, and clearer, another 

round, hollow-boned magpie lands 

on a clatter of branches, and picks 

and pecks and I think 

that makes two until the second 

sweeps in and sits beside, until  

they nose each other, point particulars, 

share a meal, brace together in the wind.