Saturday, August 11, 2012

Least Bittern


Still drunk, I got up to walk on the moon
in the water…

The birds had all gone to nest;
humans, also, had grown few.
                                                  Li Po


the rain’s still,
and the mist is gone...

in the olive leaves
a setting
 crescent
moon—

what’s not lost:
our moon
was full
when I arrived

and full again
when I departed

somewhere
beneath it all
the smallest between
the grass and reeds
in the water
marshes:

the
impossibly alluring curve
 of a bittern.

small heron,
I’ve never
seen you here.
but I want to.

if you’re here
so am I.

like the tide.
without regrets—

and the long walk
into you

is punctured
by a song,
throaty
and low.

but I’m so new
to you
I’m not sure

I’m just not sure.

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