Out on the Flats
Out on the flats, a heron still
as a hieroglyph carved
on the soft gray face of morning.
You asked, when I seemed far away,
what it meant but were gone
when I turned to you with an answer.
Nothing mysterious—hunger,
a taste for salt tides,
distance, and a gift of flight.
as a hieroglyph carved
on the soft gray face of morning.
You asked, when I seemed far away,
what it meant but were gone
when I turned to you with an answer.
Nothing mysterious—hunger,
a taste for salt tides,
distance, and a gift of flight.
3 comments:
Langsandy
A heron
stares
into
the pools of
night
Stars
glitter in
its
&nabsp sight
It stalks
through mirrors
dark as
steel
pale lilies
nod
and
constellations
reel
beautiful poem – nice comment, too!
love the photo!
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