Thursday, January 18, 2007

the Heron's wing




Her dark eyes sparked like flint
Drinking an oolong of the sight
In the Winter chill by the reservoir
Look at the heron in flight!
she, pointing toward the open sky
The lanky beauty soaring above
As rubber tires and steel lumbered by
On the spread of stained asphalt
Under our feet
The heron took it from there
Her voice trailing now
Like the brush stroke cirrus
For one moment, we thought of nothing else
Happiness, uninterrupted by machines
Or words about people and things
The heron lightly stepped from flight
To a nest of new life
As we walked back onto the earth

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