by Troy Reeves

I stop to tread water and admire him,
sharp beak, slate plumes starched smartly back,
necklace of feathers across his chest,
massive wings folded to his sides,
his great body stilted on bamboo legs,
iron-gray talons locked on a dead tree branch.
Mandarin, marshal, viceroy, wizard,
still and mysterious as the Sphinx,
he watches over his estate,
acres of water teeming with life,
war raging, above and below.
I love him being the bird God made him,
even after he departed from Eden,
strong, beautiful, noble, wise,
although I know I am captured
in those yellow metallic eyes.
He knows I am harmless, lets me pass.
He has seen our kind before, 
out of our element, 
flailing just to stay alive.

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Troy Reeves resides in Nixa, Missouri, with his wife, Susie. Following his retirement from Angelo State University, where he taught for 33 years, the couple relocated to Nixa. Troy’s poetry has been featured in esteemed publications, including Christian Century, Dappled Things, America, and Anglican Theological Review. In his free time, Troy enjoys reading, taking long walks, playing ping pong, and volunteering at his local church alongside Susie.