Saturday, April 3, 2010

HERONS

Spaced along the shore 
like chess pieces in an end game,
stalking, patient, still
feelings sorted, thoughts 
not meant to arise 
and feed off memories.
An egret moves suddenly,
stabs at a fish in the water,
swallows it whole.
Then what you desire
(and you are always in pursuit)
folds into difference
needs recalled as pleasure. 

You brought rod and reel.
Always, the scout of wind,
water’s white caps. 
Past lives float upside down
in the lake swells,
and just beneath the surface,
anger glinting like a silver lure

The sky fathers traffic,
twigs carried in beaks,
a landing dance 
of plumes and clapper. 
The knowing self points out
a female heron, lining 
the woven nest 
awaiting ritual, high 
in a tall tree's chill
and the rookery's noise.
The place will be defended.
You go away. 
.

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