The bird plunged in the crashing wave

its beak disappearing into the liquid sea,

a seamless blade perforating the ocean's core.

​

A moment passes, and the stillness of the blue sea soothes

until the bird emerges back flapping

its wings with such effort

a flagellation

a slap on both flanks again and again.

Nostrils flaring rapidly taking oxygen back into

the brain.

​

Another round. This one wasn't deep enough.

Not long enough.

A fish to catch. Time to snatch a meal to nourish the craving desolate belly.

​

Beak peaks into another wave of possibility;

body erect, still; ready for the kill.

Flap! Flap! Flap! The wings carry the heavy body out into midair.

The beak sweating, dripping. Wet. It's salivating.

Empty.

Another round.

​

A plunge even Excalibur wouldn't have made it through.

Exhausted forces, finally cease to exist.

The remains are a scar in the ocean's dermis - invisible to the naked eye, but rippling towards every sonar that calls it by name.

​

​