Thursday, May 23, 2013

Thus vapor rose and a wading bird flew

Thus vapor rose and a wading bird flew
when the Sun began its rituals. She sang
before the vault of heaven, the declination
or situation of the other stars resolved

before my eyes. The water had reflected
the thought of poets and mystics attempting
to describe the infinite. She had a dream
before my ears, a song before the canals

in various measures. She's the mist that I'm
without, the cloud I'm within, the poem I'm
making of the holy spirit. Yet, the Sun is
robbing the night of various stars, images

and epistles—then a great blue heron decides
to spread its wide wings and begin to pray.

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