feathers on water

Gunshot cracks the misty morning,
a mirror broken in an exploding chaff
of small birds, shrieking into atmosphere.
Then geese and swan run upon the splash,
wings outstretched too wide to flap,
faster, faster into sprint as inch by inch
they rise in a terrified cacophony, 
beaks wide sucking fuel into fired muscle,
beating air appeals to a returning Sun.

But there behind them, unseen
amongst shadows of glazing water,
lost feathers in a last dance regatta,
fleeing the approaching retriever,
spurred on by a cold lick of early breeze.