She came from a northern place—

a place with shade,

where lakes rest in mountain hollows

and moose wade in the shallows

under a dragonfly gaze.

She didn’t know the desert—

where a lake is a turquoise guest

drawn by tumultuous rain

to poise on the thirsty plain.

Pelicans scramble to nest.

Hurry nestlings!

Eat, while you can.

Drink, before moist comfort

becomes steaming mirage.

Grow feathers or the sun

will poach your heart.

Fly, before the gulls come

to feast

on nestlings.

She didn’t know herself

as a pelican wrestler.

But she did thrill when she held

his slashing beak in her hand.

She stroked his feathers.

She found his pulse. There.

Hot. Fast. Secret.

She clipped a tag to his wing.

Hers,

it claimed.

Hers,

until the lake disappeared.

~ ~ ~ ~

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