Kestrel

up on the cliff edge, I looked out, the open sky beneath me moved with the pattern of the waves, bent like how glass bends when it has hung for decades. and I saw the kestrel, like a rosary held – moved one bead on and then one more – as the air of the prayer kept it hovering. sand below paler than the bird’s back, and I have never seen one from above before and I can not imagine how this moment ends as, held and holding, the bird (held by the prayer, by the glass air) pauses