Senor Heron


Señor Heron

Still still
There on two stilts
Reed thin in the reeds
He stands

Posing for Mr. Audubon's
Fine line pen
His light blue grey eminence
Nearly indiscernible
Grey blue
Water green
Sleek reeds
His magic cap.

'You can't see me, Senor Darwin,
as little as you can see cousin Robin,
I have adapted beyond all recognition
I am part sky part water.'

Then he flies off, creaking in the wind,
Scrapes his way hoarsely across the sky...
grey… elegant metal file...
turning into just one disappearing line.

A niche bird,
[A specialist
Nay, a super-specialist]
A solitary aristocrat
Or pair
With beaks to be picky with
To probe into the slimmest of cavities
[in the nichiest places...]

The finest meshed nets
Nearly a foot in length
The thinnest of funnels

And another baby salmon
Another frog
Wriggles down his elongated gullet

Everything about him is elongated…
But when he start to fly and slowly begins to spread,
and slowly starts, to wave his heavy-seeming, mournful wings,
like rain curtains in the wind, oh what a leaden rhythm that is of his waving of
astonishingly wide, substantial width of wings… wide enough it seems
to lift much heavier loads than his spindly being...

No fluttering ever…
Occasionally he glides…
Just above the water
The perfect submarine hunter
A glider...

There, he perches on top of the huge spruce tree...

There, he lowers his substantial spread, cushioning,
Segueing into Mr. Audobon's preferred profile,
On the crown of the huge spread of the weeping willow and cries his heart out…

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