Kestrel has a dust bath

Skiddles aboot then flies away
Like a trembling, fluttering leaf,
its floating, flapping, flitting wings
hovering above me,
I pace solid under these leaden skies,
on root-deep peatcarved paths.
Drop down kestrel,
feathers drop down too
then rise with squirming, wriggling prey,
hold tight within gripping beak,
ale-brown blur, ancient hunter
dance in heavy clouds,
hover, hovering,
held by an invisible hand
held high, held in an airy stillness,
whilst I am caught, mesmerised,
my eyes held within the talons of
this sky-soarer,
dawn-breaker,
cloud-tearer,
wind-rider.
It's probably dead now