hunters.
stalk their preys.
over prairies
over landscapes of metal scraps
that rise towards the sky.

they see them
perched on metal trees
and copper bones
remnants of deadwood
feasting on worms

they stay lit under lamps
cooing. cooing.
to clueless hunters passing
enchanting passersby
pecking. chewing. whispering
over tales spoken by the wind

and when a hunter come they go
fluttering leaving nothing below
a loss of a hunters' game.

it takes a lot to ensnare a dove
a little lot fill you with love
it might take a lot of effort
a lot of bird seed, a lot of money
she might fly away
she might ignore you
she might even leave
a hunter must have a lot of tricks
in his sleeve.