The egrets poke along in the yard
stabbing the earth every now and then
with their curved beaks —
stopping, then moving along —
round and round for a little while —
finally vanishing from my vision.
As far as I can tell, that’s what egrets do
all the day long, feeding themselves, no doubt
on what lives beneath the soil —
on what I can never see — their invisible feast.
Their dailyness is involved in their survival —
as is mine — and has been over the years.
And though sometimes I think of them
and how life unfolds for them
I have no sense of their concern for me —
except that if I get close to them
they move to avoid the encounter.