here is a loon alone/whose mate disapproved of the nesting site he’d chosen/and ended up with another/whose upscale site she loved

the window is closing/for him to seduce another female

and it is not in him/to fight another male/in an attempted eviction

so write what happy ending you will/at this early-spring frigid-lake slice of time/he is a loon alone/totally alone/but for the clicking pebbles in his belly

humans call the pebbles gastroliths/ because they aid digestion/of those vertebrates the loon swallows whole and headfirst

but this poet calls them pebblehenge/and uses poetic license/to arrange the pebbles accordingly

and then brings the loon a mate/who will drive him just the right amount of crazy/and he will give his utmost/to make their united life a waterfowl paradise

the reader may suspect/that the poet is not writing about loons anymore

the poet is uneager to explore this possibility/and so the poem ends/with a happy unalone loon/giving the reader a wink