Petr Borkovec / HERONS
The heron walks. The marsh is hunched. above it, another with ragged wings. ‘it’s my birthday!’ says the first.
‘Mine too!’ the other calls back.
you that i’m watching this,
then writing out the lines (when you’re asleep). But i’m not up to poets
and their guile. i’m dozing.
The delta’s full of gull, not joining in.
like my eyes. like my hands.
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