Election

The pterodactyl has been thawed.

Gingerly, unfurled wings are spread

while it draws a shade with its claws,

stealthily casting cold and doubt

over terra firma. Would there

had been an unearthly shriek, cries

of rebirth to arouse the deer,

warning that dark was near, that ice

was instantly on the move, rak-

ing roads for scurrying mice to

follow—dropping young and old, ach-

ing, along the frozen furrow.

Conveniently dying along

the blind, frozen furrow. Talons

pluck, plough them under with deft, strong

strokes. It grins, glides back to salons

where similar cryogenic

wonders lick their fingers, peel sins,

preaching, preening, photogenic

at the screening of great bird’s win.

Lihula, Estonia

November, 2004