Against a clear sky,  
wings of grey swirl round in midair—    
wings that whistle     
in the wind as they flap in a flurry,     
in rapid maneuvers—     
with determined force, their grapple,    
their jostle—  when one hits hard    
into the other, who flies away.    

The victor lands and pecks        
     between     stones,    
finds a worm straight away.   
 
This dove flies off, and I spot      
the largest of my country cats     
lurking in a clump of bee’s balm.     

All shocking to see,    
this first sight of my morning!     
Forecast today?     
Not so clear.