Unassuming Sister

Although she roosts with friends
concealed in foliage nearby,
I know she forages alone,
a hungry poet in the dark of night.
The night heron’s utterly still
in her perch over the lake
until both our meditations end.

Now she lifts to take a spin into the wind,
in flight unfolding
to her four-foot span and steady wingbeat.

Squat, she’s called, but I saw her,
if less long-limbed,
stretch that soft white neck
easy as her Great Blue cousin.
She returns to a higher perch,
all the while silent as a master teacher.

When she turns straight on to me,
the patch beneath her blueblack crown
beams luminous as new snow.
Her deep red eyes scrutinize,
and the two white plumes at her nape
flutter like a fancy hat’s.
I give her a bow of recognition,
for I think we prayed together for the world.

©Susa Silvermarie 2019

Leave a Reply