Poem: Fly, Red Kite, fly

I watch as you trace the landscape with your gaze,

Your wings stretched out far,

Reaching from mountain-peak to mountain-peak.

Turning this way and that,

Who am I to think you are creating a show just for me?

Your red feathers fluttering in the wind,

Flying with skill and grace,

And deadly precision.

I watch again as you swoop on your prey with threatening speed.

I imagine the mouse raising its hands as if surrendering, only to be forced to forfeit consciousness with the upward thrust of your wings.

A deadly game of cat-and-mouse, but who am I to allude to being above your precision?

You caught your prey with such efficiency and necessity, and here I am questioning how big we really are;

the significance of our existence.