Once I Watched a Great White Bird

pilot in from the Pacific over Elkhorn Slough,

smooth as a Buick Riviera on cruise control at dawn,

empty road before it, emptiness behind,

the air still as God. Yet the bird barely flapped

as it swung east, then north, so low

I saw a snake dangling from its beak

like heavy saliva, a surely-dead snake, I thought,

until it wriggled up and tried to slap

the bird. Dead weight. I meant, Dead straight.

Funny how words call up a near-twin, jump