they caw

and they crack, they cack

they are ethereal as they cavort,

as they swoop

their eyes like imitation hawks

pretending  like a childhood game

to no gain

as they feed solely on the flatgrass of the marsh

their stark white against the muddy green

and they are free 

unlike me 

starring from behind a thicker pane of glass

breaking on my white wrists

I long to be one of a kind

I hold 

I am held

I am the prisoner of Shalot

observing closely

what other's watch not.