Coconut Grove “Margaritaville” — Jimmy Buffett

away they went; jawahir followed by the flock.
beyond the cliffside of stone crags and withered grass, across a bare patch of sand, and back again.
thinking the boy would be mindful of the emptiness left in the wake of the birds, and that he might be crafty enough to take advantage, it was with some surprise that jawahir returned by a roudabout way to find him shouting their name.
look to the grass. the jewel's tone is knife-like, sharply pointed. there isn't time to waste before the flock will be returning.
towards the yellowed brush the coyote then descends, zigging, zagging, as before only this time coming away with clumps of nest and the occasional sphere of speckled egg.
some are quickly crushed, oozing yolk across lips.
one in particular hoists free and is offered, by way of rolling along the culvert, to where the boy stands. a glimmer of mirth lingering in the darkness of the courtesan's eye.