The hawk, blatant and
in-your-face, all hot shot soaring and swooping, angling against
an optimum backdrop
for accentuating his best features,
doing the whole hah, hah, hah, my wingspan is bigger than yours
thing, carefully-orchestrated appearances,
just visible enough, and forever
inaccessible. A-list celebrity of the skies,
disappearing, reappearing,
keeping you guessing from the ground,
avian stud that he is,

deliberately drawing attention away
from the
snake arranged, glinting against black
tar, poised with difficult simplicity
in a contortion of the whole,
curving itself into a symbol of infinity,
a flight of quiet excellence
and unmoving contemplation
as semis thunder past.