Plump pigeons wheel and float,
sunstruck necks glittering;
gray wings wide, they ride
the tufts of lifting wind—
a wild, joyous dance.
They know the perfect predator perched above,
the fastest animal on Earth;
they dance together
as they have forever.
The peregrine watches
their pirouettes, their dives,
and still
they fly the wind,
as if the hunter is not there.
Patricia Thrushart