Cambodian Reconnaissance 

Thrust from our aeries 
as fledglings, 
the opening of wings 
obscured the sun's intensity, 
giving notice to migrations 
camouflaged and unexpected. 

The perceptive eyes of hunters, aware 
that flock patterns afford fair game, 
began their harvest and the ritual 
decoration of trees, stringing bowels 
and ornamental organs dripping 
red against the leaves. 

Gathered vines and branches 
hid our nestled alared existence. 
Sitting cross legged, high in bough, 
careful not to blink in moonlight, 
we waited months in Kampuchea 
for the next migratory wave. 

-- Mark W. Stacks