does not secrete preen oil
to preserve buoyancy and repel water,
as would other diving birds.

Instead it absorbs the weight of water
like a drowned poet, pockets lined with rocks,
marching into the undiscovered sea.

The bird serpents through the waves,
using the extra weight to climb currents and
chase the wriggling tail of a life it aims to consume.

When it’s finished, the cormorant must dry
itself in the sun for hours, its wings outstretched
in offering or benediction.

Imagine this, to forego flight and sink by design,
to break the surface of a world that promises
only to drown, to drag you further from the sky.