Friday, November 21, 2014

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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