six and one I saw, doubtless  
others were in the reeds    

the seven sensed I was there, and made their
pyramid wakes on the pond’s surface  

before taking flight to flee from me, a two-legged,
wingless, clumsy giant  

what fat, finite clump of cells in a mallard’s mind
commanded webbed feet to stir, wings to flap?  

somewhere, deep in pink folds in
their perfectly sculpted skulls  

hides a memory of what we flat earth
walkers hath wrought  

skewering them on crude sticks, roasting their flesh
on ancient, mystic pyres