That’s what hunger can drive you to
said Brian pointing at the Harrier hawk
diving for a late-flying godwit
half a moment behind the flock.
Little chance the hawk’s slow stalking body
could knife past the long-beaked bird.
Still, he tries, before slow circling
his surrender at the screech of the only word
uttered by their one tongue at the ascension.
Below, anemones, the color of candle wax
dry to death in the sun, while sea stars
pull apart mussels lying too low on stone backs.
Here is where my hunger drives me,
leading me to the sea’s grassy edge
where I hear nothing but, above me, the screech
of laughing girls dancing on the sandstone ledge.