_____Osprey, brown above, white below,
not one color dominates,
like the many of us--the true humans.
Osprey, your bird-eye now perusing me,
like it is an eye with nowhere to go,
rambunctious wings, waiting, waiting.
You are still, but I sense in you movement,
much like the movement of my own memory,
soaring inside, soaring outside.
The heart of you is a being continually upon
and above an open bay.
___Your bird-self is the delicate balance of you.
Your quest for sky is my quest for permanence,
indulgent feathers fixed in a state of ample air.