It had never
occurred to me
that in all the years
of moving in the same
space as birds
I had not once
heard the sound
of a beak
closing

until the day
I heard a click
in the yard
and a few
moments later
another

click

and realized
that the Bee Eater,
with its leafgreen back
and a stripe of yellow
at its throat
as thick and bold as
wax crayon,
snaps the bee
in its mouth
with an audible sound
sharp
and surprising.

Now I notice
the conspicuous silence
of the Weaverbird
and the Flycatcher
as they find their meals
in the long grass,
and I scan the
avocado tree each
morning for the
yellow-striped throats,
hoping for the
thrill of
hearing
the
click
of
beaks.