168

As I was walking down
            Out of the track from the wood
                        I saw a harrier come up
Out of the edge of the trees
            With disjointed strokes of its
                        Bent dark wings like something
Being operated mechanically.
            It flew as if it was falling upwards.
                        It had run up two doves
From the stunted trees
            That clattered as if haywire
                        In double strands together,
Woven up into the air
            Fat and white and blackeyed.
                        The harrier hove in.
It lowered its blond head and
            Its long ragged legs rose,
                        And put its talons forward.
The dove closest seemed to
            Fall apart in the air and its
                        Neck that had seemed free
Was broken before I could
            Know it had been caught, and
                        The harrier folded into a tree
With the bloody carcass pinned
            In its foot.
                        To me it was a pink shape
But as I came up close I
            Could see the harrier draw its
                        Intestine up in its mandible.