Brambles and roots nettle the creek bank,
but needn't know their purpose:
they cannot grow wrong.

A red tail sails over the treetops;
the ducks, grazing,
scattered across the lawn,
see it first, stand motionless a moment,
leaning, heads canted
to get a better look, then quickly,
skillfully gather themselves up
like a handful of jacks,
three, six, nine,
before the hawk ever thinks
of touching the ground.