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 slap on both flanks again and again.
Nostrils flaring rapidly taking oxygen back into
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.
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.