seeking shells, I very nearly didn’t see the pellet, just a baby’s fist, a clutch of life’s leftovers

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seeking shells, I very nearly didn’t see the pellet, just a baby’s fist, a clutch of life’s leftovers

almost unnoticed
bundle of fishbones and scales
bound without order
or sense of what they had been
living          before snatched from wave

lying carelessly
dry as the sand bones and scales
they had given form
to the slippery fish       but now
unneeded by life    transformed

once elegant      sleek
fluid as the formless waves
until     suddenly
snatched by one yet more fluid
despite her taloned angles

can it be returned
what the osprey quick-striking
stole from the wavecrest
could separated bones scales
with patience be assembled

or is it her dive
headfirst and what she catches
in me watching her
great-winged bird bold against the sky
I can’t see her      beautyless

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