Alone. In a narrow slip
of open water the brook's hard work
keeps free of ice and snow,
the bufflehead sticks to itself
or its mate.
No friend
of the mallard or other ducks
they must share what scraps
of open space are available.
Separate but equal.
They prefer
the quiet places
where there is no one
to make fun of
its bloated head, the oversized
target he looks out from
at a world
round,
distinct and difficult
as itself.
