Sunday
Apr272014

Nycticorax nycticorax audubonparki
 

Kelli J. Christenson


 


Night herons, come to me, for it is night and I
have a poem to be written;
come to me out of
the tree
whose secret you are, nine birds
at-a-glance invisible
in the leafed branches of a live oak.

Come tell me how it is that first I
did not see you, only heard you

even as I traced your speech up
the low air
to surely among the leaves; come tell me
how the solid bottle,

each,

of your
body is a hide-able thing.  Teach me
your inconspicuousnesses.

Oh, will you lend me your ability
to vacation in the park
even while the park is filled
with eyes and ears and breezes?

Oh please
show me how to be
still in-
side a veil of leaves.