I come to the lake bringing something today,
and I feel like it brings something back.
There is kwirlam the swamp hen with
young on the path by the east viewing area.
They try to cross the path, pause,
go back.
Nearby, there are three yet Pacific black ducklings
with mother.

At the southern end
there are the first four hardheads of the season,
suddenly at home, with white beak tips,
among all the other ducks—
pink ears, wood ducks, Pacifics—
and coots and swans.
There are two quenda
nosing amongst leaves
in open sight.
There are two cygnets 
lying on the bank 
apart from the rest of their family
for the first time I’ve seen.
Then I see a black duck
go under the water to pick up
a dropped fig—the first time
I’ve ever seen one dive like that.

I walk to the gazebo, passing 
more swamp hen young,
as well as fresh coot chicks.
And when I get there,
the swan with single cygnet
paddles right over to me,
and looks me in the eye, all
black and red, so close I could touch it.
It raises its head,
then drops it again,
as if inviting some food to fall
in a similar way.
The cygnet comes over too,
all grey and fluffy,
paddling eventually
with one foot raised
and resting.
And then they are
and I am
gone.