The cry of the erne

Out of the grey – into another –

a routine morning emerges

in leaden sleeplessness –

tessellates into a mirror

– one immense mirror –

levelled with the ground –

its surface like a mountain lake

whose unstirred waters

whorls everything grey

below and above, and above

the erne circles her own reflection

the two quickly gyre centreward

lunge and soar in synchrony

like colliding meteorites and

at the meeting point

claw savagely at each other

– shards scintillate in

the bursting sun –

to arise with a salmon

between her talons –

the fractaled vision shatters

leaves windswept greyness

for horizons around –

whilst the morning

goes greyward again

the cry of the erne

resounds in the waking air.