Sharing Sky

They all seemed quite unruffled
by the visitor, and even waved a wing
before they graciously withdrew,
to linger over dinner, I suppose.
The glider couldn’t wave its wings,

of course, but did appear to dip its nose
and drop a bow, of sorts, in their direction.

Then there were just the three of them,
three outstretched, lengthening spans
of living wings, all freely circling,
crossing, soaring up in spirals,
tracing arabesques against a lengthening sky,

drifting out of hearing, finally disappearing
in the haze while, lifted by the selfsame breeze,

the silver solitary glider still slid easily
along to trace its own lines, delicate
and full of grace, however small,
and though by high-borne hawks unseen
serenely shared, with all its gracious hawks, the sky.