Hunters are scouting for possible tracks
along the bay. Impish shearwaters, surfbirds
and cormorants race across the sky, mocking.
The coast is rough. It’s no easy task to scale crags
and wiggle among rocks, to stalk the ultimate game:
the great auk, the laughing owl, the O'ahu 'O'o.
Deep in moss and mottled shade, a dozen eggs giggle.
The O'ahu 'O'o
If you have any comments on this poem, Jane Røken
would be pleased to hear from you.