Blue Heron


Blue heron,
brown water,
bright-jeweled uxorious ducks in pairs.

All are hungry,
and the olive ripples
conceal a feast.

The ducks are loud,
old comfortable companions
dining
at the river cafeteria.

The heron walks
tall and quiet,
serene, spiky, alone.

The ducks busy themselves
with silly superfluity,
paddling and dipping,
frenzied splashing-scrambling,
squawking and comparing,
fussing about.

The heron ambles along
so casually,
lets each step take a full rotation of the wheel,
then stands
on thin, careful, steadfast, crooked legs,
looks,
fixes his strange eye and needle beak,
selects,
plunges once
efficiently,
then raises his face to heaven
and swallows
satisfaction.

The ducks
fluster, fumble,
worry, play,
work hard for every bite,
and are happy.

The heron saunters
even as he hunts
with purpose
and a sharp eye,
and is content.

And all are fed.

by Sara, copyright 1999, all rights reserved