Woodcock

By SANDY LONG

We tossed from the car with intention in tow,

took two steps across the melting snow

and startled one with small glassy eyes,

a Buddha-body,

feathered like the leaf litter it skittered through,

but the clue poked from its quizzical face,

majestic proboscis

made for tunneling down to where the worms are,

where the grubs lie blindly, awaiting transformation,

unless the woodcock, clever hider,

finds them first.