There’s one who watches the fields
& another who watches the watcher
of the fields
        As we drive north       or west
beyond the populated part of town
I suddenly see       & point
but you’ve no chance to glance up
before the car roof       blocks your view
        Another time       you’re the one
pointing       & I’m the one pointlessly
scanning the roadside for proof
of what’s past
        The watcher       watching from the
highest vantage point       a form of
greater proportion than so many
lesser things
        Those scurriers       & flutterers
oblivious       much as we are       to such  
bright wings