By Dark Angel
Date: 2 March 2001
The Inlet
There on the rock
the heron
cocks his head.
In greeting I wonder?
Am I now so much a part
of this lonely place
that the residents
leave room for me
in their silent circle?
I've sat
in rain and starlight
reflecting
on the word that sums up
my appearence here.
It could be said
by some at least
that I
haunt this place.
To haunt
to frequent
to return seeking something
like a lost soul
or dream
or love
or a home I never knew
and perhaps
never will.
Funny
I never saw that before
I only sat
upon the rock
to watch this silent scene
dream of arms I never knew
kisses I never tasted
laughs that never lit my life
and a face I cannot forget.
How's the fishing, brother heron?
I understand
I'm not catching anything either.
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