Male
mallard content in this
one space of new green shoots.
Red
winged black bird cleans debris from
water soaked reeds.
Heron
stays patient just off to the right,
long standing silence,
small
movements
tell long stories
provide answers
to the wheres and the wherefores.
No
sun glistening
no winds blowing;
small fish.
Only the red winged
chatters in the quiet solace.
These
small gentle movements
burrow into my gut
digging deeper
embroidering my loneliness,
caught
between content and contempt.
What
is it I want
to fill that bored hole?
What is it I yearn for, desire?
What
makes that small pinpoint
quake?
All
last week I watched
hundreds of swallows patrol
the water’s surface.
Today
the fish have no competition
for an insect fest.
Today
movement tells a different story.
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