Woodcock flight

The dancing is done
As day drifts homeward.

Shrouded in shadow,
Woodcocks bleat, then launch
Their winnowing flight.

Small dark rockets,
Upward they whir:
Dots in twilight sky—

Then burst and drop
With soundless thud
Against the tender earth.

3/29/2016

2016©Brian T. Maurer

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