A blue preacher
flew toward the swamp,
in slow motion.
On the leafy banks,
and old Chinese poet,
hunched in the white gown of his wings,
was waiting...
The preacher
made his difficult landing,
his skirts up around his knees.
The poet's eyes
flared, just as poet's eyes
are said to do
when the poet is awakened
from the forest of meditation...
They greeted each other,
rumpling their gowns for an instant,
and then smoothing them.
They entered the water,
and instantly two more herons-
equally as beautiful-
joined them and stood jut beneath them
in the black, published water
where they fished, all day.
I imagine myself, approaching a pond in New England, and discover that Mary is sitting on the bank, watching the water. She is disturbed by my presence, me with my robes of organized church swirling around my head and in my head, thoughts of "maybe this will preach." Is she so different, as she studies bird and fish, wondering "maybe this will make a good poem." Either way we are both fishing for beauty, for answers, and perhaps even more so, for questions. Whatever we catch, we are no different than those up river, down river, across the river, in the river and above the river. We all go down to the river to pray.
If herons are poets and preachers, what are ospreys? Eagles? Ducks? Cranes? What are you?
Eagles are Treasurers in charge of currency.
ReplyDeleteDucks float a loan.
Cranes wade into unknown territory.
Ospreys skim the profits off.
I'm the Owl who keeps them all honest and watches the beauty of co-operation between them. When questions arise, I'll refer them to you.
Very thought provoking. The bug question? Who are we?
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