Resting on a stone

by the bank of Red Beck 

I wait for a heron, for such luck 

as the bird can bestow.

The shadow of who I am

sits quietly beside me.

Seed-heads of swaying grasses

scatter insects like wishes.

Earth hums a plainsong of bees. 

A clerical silhouette 

neck bowed as if in prayer

is etched silent and still

amid the river’s turbulence.

Meditation of feather and muscle

spears a silvery fish, rears,

unfolding wings like a map

and gliding air streams

carries me home.