Birds descend on earth in waves,
each leaving an eye in the sky framed by a lame triangle
with old rusty scissors inside.
Ancient rumor has it that
they are looking for a kindred specimen of unusual qualities
with a thousand mirrors inside,
but no one has a spyglass to see what’s below.
Each bird leaves a leg in a pond.
Librarians hide ornithological books
among tedious mystery novels and go hunting.
But birds have no spyglasses to see what’s below.
Each one leaves a leg in a pond
and hops on the heads of the nimrods.