The frigate bird rides the wind and skims
the sea for fish at the surface, and if it must,
it steals what it needs to eat from other birds.
It can go on like this for more than a week.

The frigate bird will not land,
not even to sleep.
In the salt-spray for days, it does not wish
to be somewhere else. It dwells in trust,

continually aloft, beyond words—
it can go on like this for more than a week.
The frigate bird will not land.
Hour after hour, it glides in the sun’s glare,

and all night it speeds above the wavering black.
It does not dream of anything higher
or succumb to boredom,
that human affliction.

Its solitude demands no emotional exertion,
no effort to love, accept, or understand.
Its world is compelling and bare.
A hive of stars hums above its back,

but it knows no desire,
and can go on like this for more than a week.
Innocent of metaphor, in the open air,
the frigate bird will not land.

About Brook J. Sadler

Brook J. Sadler holds a PhD in philosophy from Duke University and an MFA in fiction from the Warren Wilson College Program for Writers. She writes poetry, fiction, essays, criticism, humor, and philosophy—sometimes in hybrid forms. Her work can be found in many publications, including McSweeney’s, Greensboro Review, South Writ Large, Women’s Review of Books, Aquifer, Philosophical Forum, and Ms. Magazine. When she is not at her desk, she is probably out walking the dog.

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