A family of ducks comes swimming by,

satisfied.

I hear water running, various noises, quack -voices.

 

And all of a sudden;

someone calls out,

not loud,

from outer space.

 

I would touch the smallest duck,

and warmly hug,

but they had already gone.

 

I look attentively,

waiting for the new family.

No doubt, happily.

 

It smells good in the field.

 

Just ahead of a footprint

is a fingerprint.

One breadcrumb.

I pick it.

Then I sit.

 

And the ducks came there                                  

where I was.

It wasn't a loss.