Carl Kinsky

Birdwatching
 
Two egrets gaze from the edge of a marsh,
intensely calm, serenely vigilant,
necks curved in esses, elegantly arched,
but when they’re startled, turning petulant.
Annoyed I trespassed in their hidden swamp,
yet disinclined to fight, they spread their wings.
Throats squawk.  Necks crane.  Webbed feet in tantrums stomp.
I won’t complain although rejection stings
and while retreating steal a parting glance.
I only wanted to become their friend.
They skim still waters, with reflections dance,
then disappear in woods behind a bend.
If they could hear me, I’d apologize,
but they’re standoffish which perhaps is wise.

Carl Kinsky is a sonneteer masquerading as a lawyer in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, a small town on the Mississippi.  He wrote his first sonnet when wooing his wife, and she has suffered ever since.  His sonnets have appeared in  Autumn Sky, The Ekphrastic Review, Grand Little Things, The Lyric, Lighten Up Online, The Road Not Taken,  and elsewhere.  He’s won a few prizes but not enough to quit his law practice.