Jesse Glass

The heron stalks into water

we follow it with our eyes

until it disappears

into the dazzling, heart-shaped chaos

of the river

& slips beyond accidents of time & place

duration & extension

& in this momentary blindness

we hear it rise

with careful, swooping beats,

& track with our ears its vast invisible arc

　　& think it home

　　while the small things creep & feed

　　& become themselves the rock

　　they crowd beneath

& know that in some future time

the heron too may grace the thickness of the rock

with open beak & twisted spine

& give the rock its wings

© Jesse Glass

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