In silence,
perched upon a branch,

a feathered mortal
scanned the pool of water
where the ice
had not begun to sculpt.

Its eyes sought
‘any’ movement. 
Its longing for a taste
of some-thing to satisfy
an empty belly.

Holding steadily,
bathed in sun’s light
like a monk
consumed in prayer…

was this communion?

Was this solitary winged-being
already fed?

It was I who feasted at this site

AND so very full.

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