Winter Birds

Buzzard wingspan,
Telegraph pole,
lands;
straightens flight feathers,
observes prey below.

Frozen pond,
swan’s webbed prints.
A mother’s anxiety to protect.
Was it enough?
Not quite… Guilt.

Lone twilight magpie
threading dusk to night,
blood oak to milky way.
I salute Alistair
the submarine commander.

Dead wren by car door,
sandstone road from the quarry,
light gone in seconds,
freezing to minus 1.
Buzzard wingspan…




Viv Grant Jan. 2023 ©