three birds


bald eagle
right there in front of me
moving at the same speed
and in the same direction
as I on my bike
when I lift my gaze from the black pavement
and follow your white tail feathers
as you glide low above the roadway
flapping with a road-kill squirrel
and veer over the guard rail
into the trees that hug the lakeshore


sandhill crane
arrowing across my route
high above the road
so straight-backed
you remind me of a crane
I watched years ago
that stood in the field
watching the coyote
that was stalking from the fringe of the forest
but came no closer.


pecking at the fast food bag
on the side of the road
can you count to five
and tell my fortune?


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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