In the botanic garden one Mallard sculls among the Monet lilies and imported Victorian platters, water dyed black for contrast. Plants sorted, labeled–bonsai here, Italian herbs there, a botany buffet, bite of desert cacti, taste of yellow chrysanthemums same color as the yellow fire hydrant. A tea house, one red squirrel, some bees, a dozen…

That smooth oval body, compact, / plumage dark, dappled, seamless, / talons gripping the backyard fence, / scimitar head a slow swivel / searching for mice in leaf duff. // Imagine those hollow bones / that make flight easy, light. / Hawk waits, patience its profession. Then / lifts off, that grand transformation–/ a winged…