We watch him
watching us.
Then he picks his way
in slow-
motion through
the minefield of the shore.
Now he unfolds
the parcel of himself
and starts to gather up
the vast contraption of his wings
and crank himself
aloft.
Press ups
and downward pressing
on the bed of air
transform his slack
machinery, grey matter
to a miracle of flight:
hunched heap,
long loper,
sack of shite.