BLUE HERON
When Herons move as Oneshimmering body of white amidstthe teal sea of skyforms take shape in some archaic languageonly whales and angels speakwith heads bowed like the bow of violinon spiders' strings.
This is when crickets making loveon the desert cactus leavesleave us breathless like autumn’s empty branchesand I fall away to nothingnessand become an empty reed.This is when I hear my voiceand understand the weigh of my own authority;the ground I stand onthe granite that flows.This is when I close my eyes and see through years and agesand feel the push and pull of our flock-bodies migratingback to our primordial nesting grounds.
When Herons move as Onewe harmonize as wisps of wind;molecules which holds and lifts the weighty avianbody of beak and bone and claw;when we dig in to this songlineI am you and you are me and we are us!Aloneness recedes deep underground.This is when we fly and move as mercury,as hot lava at Mt. Vesuvius covering the deadas Eros and Psyche’s love reunitedafter all of Aphrodite’s impossible tests—perched, now, on the lap of a golden thrown of feathershigh on Mt. Olympus.
When Herons move as One, Godbreathes and we become the pausebetween the inhale and the sigh;we become the lift betweenthe current and the mighty wing;the sun shining through the clouds that frame this dream of flight; destiny’s movement.We become safe landing.
