RL Swihart: ‘Sometimes’

Sometimes

Between the sun and the moon in the Southern March,
rules the Little King. Sometimes I go there
in search of solace

I arrive at nine and leave no later than dusk.
I wear a cap. Take my binoculars and camera.
Leave all my worries in the car

Last I heard he’s been seen between the tall pine on the hill
and the culvert below. So I comb the trees and flowering
shrubs. Periodically play his “anthem”
on my phone

For five hours: nothing. Except the sun and towering blue.
A few disc golfers on the periphery. A hawk atop
a high pine in the distance. Thought
and its absence

About two I play the anthem one last time. Lickety-split
he emerges from his secret grotto. He’s looking right at me,
so I take a pic

Then he’s off: darting along the concrete curb that separates
his “moveable kingdom” from the rolling lawn (“green’s
green apogee” peaked by rain)

His friend the eagle (once a contender for the title) swoops
down and takes him on his back. They go up, flying
as high as an eagle can fly

“Thanks,” I call, if only in thought. “Little King, Basiliskos,
Zaunkönig. I’ve had a fabulous day. Now I’m going
home”

RL Swihart