I am eating my zen sandwich by the side
of a blue lake . I hear the sound of
two wings flapping .
A fawn falcon plunges down the side
of the volcanic cone , its claws extended
like the landing gear of a plane .
As it skims across the surface — a sail-winged
skater —- the talons lacerate the taut
skin of that lake . It bleeds blue .
John Malone 