White Heron

Sinuous, curving neck,
full breast,
long legs that
reach into
the harbor’s edge

Obsidian eyes
bottomless, a tunnel without end

Along a rocky shore,
the slow filling harbor
a mirror capturing grace,
clouds doubled,
scudding across a fecund sea

As you strike, down,
rippling the mirror,
your body shooting forward,
head buried in the sea and the sky,

You have caught prey
tight with your mouth,

Trapped, engulfed
their shaking body now raised,
glistening under a hot Maine sun,



About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Love, Lust, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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