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Poems


Heron, Rock Creek Park

A blue heron stands
in the creek, waiting
for a silvery flash

in sun-sparkled water.
Beak, neck, rump, legs --
sinuous but still,

the heron stares for
hours, days. His hunger
gnaws time, until he

sees past and future
in glints and glimmers
and liquid shadow --

sees the creek before
concrete and bridges,
the fish schooling long

after the bridges fall.
The turtles basking
on logs have endless

memories, but not such
vision; the fish dart
through ripples of time,

remembering nothing.
The hungry heron sees,
and waits, and knows.


September, 2000


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