THE EGRETS

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.

 

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply