I sat,
I did,
On the
glacial rock
Scattered with
Green lichen
The water
Three feet
Down reflecting,
It did,
The already
Blue morning
Sky scattered
With pillowy
Clouds of
White, cut,
And this
I Know
For sure,
By a
Duck’s wake-
An acute
Angle - as
My eyes
Capture the
Flight, I
Swear, of
A heron -
Oh so
Regal in
Her wingspan!
The sound
Of her
Body moving
Through the
July air
Reminding me -
Drop the
Thousands of
Stories. Smile,
And be
Right here.
