Bird of Prey

sitting in a dead old
buzzards’s tree, preening
checking-out the path
north and south, then
staring keenly into the wash

I’m not sure what it was
someone said buzzard
looked more like a large
hawk to me, but
too far to clearly see

four times the size
of the strutting pigeons
I’ve seen in the parks
and sitting the power-
lines along city streets

but it was large, dark
and glossy, sitting
in that old buzzard’s tree
alert and preening
this bird of prey

–LE – 5/26/24

PS: This poem was inspired by an encounter of a meditative kind during our morning ride along the Tucson Loop.