On the edge of the pond a great white
egret catches five-inch fish, its trick neck
now a bone-china handle just thick
enough to curve without cracking—sleight
of spine and cup—now a javelin in flight
traveling with frugal grace: quickness
made slow by the instinct that missing
what’s aimed for’s what comes of haste, or eyes
too big for your stomach. Among the weeds’ dead
shoots giant carp feed—a tea party of stiff-
tongued brutes sipping algaed shadows, exempt
by size from a predator whose slight kisses
yield up what’s small enough to swallow instead
of choking alone on a single wish.