Curlew

david m, XC200083
Accessible at http://www.xeno-canto.org/200083

An echoed note bends from my
throated whisper to pipe your name.

In the morning I will see
A curlew fly with purpose, horizon
Perpendicular to the driven path.

His bill less hooked than remembered,
His flight as strong as I recall,
His ghost cry stilled in passage.

RSPB’d data beats decreasing,
Awaits a weirder silent season,
As we glance shivers when you sing.

.

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A pibroch on Craigowl

At Prieston there is a binary gate
Of ten inputs:
Many locks, many keys
And many combinations,
Only any one of which is required.
An Ur OR-gate:
Case open or shut.

But just beside
This logic of admittance
A grand big stone sits quietly by
Styling the fence
For any curious pedestrian.