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Mardi May Page 3
HERON
A white-faced heron paces the shallows
with ballerina grace high-stepping and splashless
stands on a rock sentinel still and grey as stone
waits for fingerling shadows in the dappled, liquid light
patient as driftwood bleaching in the sun
the dart of a beak swift and arrow keen
a startle of drops his snake-neck swallow
the surface seals itself mirrors the bird’s bright eye.
WALKING THE POEMS
This morning, I took three poems walking; hatless they were and open to the glare of sun.
The wind that riffled through my hair winnowed the words, til they cast lean shadows on the scribbly page.
I found the slow spots, the downhill acceleration; rested them in the deep shade of old trees; walked their reflections around a calm lake.
When we returned to our papery home, they had grown tall and straight, lean-muscled and strong enough to stand alone.
© Copyright, 2013,
Mardi May. |