Circles. Shared in underlying measure
with some swifts that flicker higher,
deft and dark, obsessive on another prey;
its curving beak mewls plaintive calls
but also sates its blood’s desire;
it is a silent beatless soar of wings
outstretched to ride the wind
in heedless majesty, against the void;
arching once or twice towards a stall –
an almost-stoop, a trigger not released –
before its tail again controls the flight
which carries those unblinking eyes,
quartering the ground;
although no quarter will be asked, or given,
in the hunters’ sky.
Maintain the Advance! 