Red Kite, 4pm

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.

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