Heron

home of the heron
Home of the Heron – George Inness

 

Your wings arch and rise.

Beneath such tides

the world is silenced.

 

Observant, the clouds roll back a parchment

scribed with prophesy

I can’t translate.

 

Your eye, dart sharp, immaculate,

clear as a lake reflecting granite sky.

Your dull plumage brims

with a universe of stars.

 

From marble plinth, brink

you perch

on the edge

of a great flood.

A surge swelling with the music of flight.

 

Your fluid form serrates the filmy dusk,

sends ashes plummeting

to make craters of the ground.

 

Your simple onward stride

a sail in a vast ocean.

Your silence a sanctuary

amidst tempests of tailored talk and meaningless motion,

swirling the streets like plastic bags

receipts, filigree of half-composed, decompositions.

 

Oh, gentle grey wave,

lapping silence on this ship wrecked shore

you remind me of a sacrament,

of atonement.

 

While we set alarms

beneath the timeless sky, you fly

somewhere above, beyond,

as if to say, stop.

This is why

you are lost.

 

 

 

 

 


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