Poem #188
Space #3
Heron pulls up from the water,
her long beak tracing first the riverbank
then lumbering clouds over head.
Ducks walk on ice by the shore
and pick at leaves and twigs floating slowly.
All together, they take to the water
as the sun finally finds an opening to the fish
and bends light across the length of the current.
Heron finds no comfort here,
prefers to hunt in the shadows.
She picks up her tired legs
and draws a silent blue-grey band
beneath the buckling willow.