wetlands are moving into the ethers and fogs of memory
all over this waters-come-down globe we living beings
call home. with, without respect: no mind. the places
where the sturdier of the real angels called birds settle
in the evening sunsettings into fog banks of the ocean
born, far inland: these draw their flocks back from sky
to earth with cries that stir souls and bring silence to
busy human thought.
I would be a crane, if could be: a dancer. a flier. a water
creature: All Three, all at once. I would have such a full
and strident singing, that none could show disrespect.
I would have loyalty to love. my feathered clothing, a
remarkable cloak of beauty, grace, élan, and still, more
than practical: perfect, really....
instead, from far away, I admire. I stand in awe, truly.
each of you carries more grace than all I have known, so
consciously, so unconsciously, all at once.
then, you rise on some message of the gods, into this
amazingly settling sky of all times: rise, then come down
to the earth again, into the welcome of waters and soils.
all at once, my heart sings your even-song....