The Heron
The Heron
Love can declare itself
calmly as a heron
on a still pond
Its step a ripple widening
Each emanating circle
polishes me like a river stone
Till I am washed clean
by its love
But don’t be fooled
by that still white heron
I know,
for I have been speared
through the heart
by that razor beak
All that I was
annihilated
in a single moment
As she raised
my glistening body
and swallowed
me whole
