In the one space that wasn't frozen
by Lyn Lifshin

the heron, deep
in pond water,
still as sticks

and then, a sudden
swoop like the
last fruit falling

off a tree into snow.
I happened to see it,
standing near the

window, that flash
of tangerine and
gold in its beak like

a barb of sun, a slice
of guava in colorless
air. It's been so long

I don't remember
something I looked for
and wanted to come

came so fast

 

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