LANDSTORK

The unwinking eyebutton of the landstork;

The beak’s polished ochre

Combs the yellowed grass for prey:

The moment does not have meanings –

The moment is the meaning.

A shock of its neck to the ground –   

An eyeful of white whooping wing –

A spasm of the wind –  

Is the only memory of violence.

The rest, like before, is a zen koan.

The bird slowly wading the sky cloud by floating cloud.