The rush of the future stops
for a long moment,
I grasp the horns
tighter than known strength.
It’s far off now, (the future)
but I wait for judgement–
and judgement has a full morning.

The bank is empty
because the heron hasn’t returned.

I feel the absence.
An ache in my side where
the razor cartilage of your long beak
searched and prodded for food.
The bursting nets of fish
my ribs bowled around-
Saving all the eggs,
the scales, the fishy-fish flesh for your breakfast.
On your two legs–
long sticks jutting into the mud–
you counted gaggles of geese
with me.
And when a lone five flew
two minutes ahead of the other hundred,
you looked at me,
your eyes, unspoken mystery.
As light as a feather,
lifted to the air and ate
Emily’s cousin off the bridge.
The last remaining of her family,
gone forever in the tangle
of river weeds
and crustaceous indigestibles
in your stretching stomach.
My heart lurched after my eight-legged weaver-friend.
You don’t eat spiders,
What did you ever have against Emily?
Of course you don’t answer.
Great Blue Herons
don’t talk to
girls like me.

  Photo: Caters News Agency 

  Photo by blog author, spider: Emily’s cousin making her web.