Isn’t it a relief now to emerge
in that early hour artificially rigged
to provide a little more light?

You can see by the watermark
where the rocks go under
at high tide.

At the river’s edge,
a wading bird holds its pose
of asking-not-asking-just-being.

When you come back at the end
of the day you imagine it’s still there,
holding up its share, not being swallowed.


In response to Via Negativa: Obliterated.

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