Brilliant neck
curving, poised. Dagger beak
the same gray as legs and toes.
Why is nature beautiful?
The lust for pattern, Peter said.
The heron's head rose and twisted,
circular eye, light brown, orange
rimmed, ancient intelligence
asking a different question.
I was unmoving, not dangerous.
The heron turned to hunt,
brush, a cloud above the river.
New Smyrna Beach,
Florida
Wally's Poem
Dolphins surge up and under.
Mozart's soprano
stitches the heart together.
Washes for a watercolor.
An ant crosses my foot.
Wallace Klitgaard;
_Epitome of Splendor_--
ants, sun, one's lot.
He typed it himself,
showed it to me on the bus
38 years ago.
He was grinning,
the glad no age
that we become, bent
to making clumsy prayer.
Morning, Maine Honolulu
Early mist breaking
on low tide, mud smell.
Ducks, the small birds,
the rooster down the road
begin to sing the air,
the light, the whole
enormous chance
grateful as the old people
reclaiming Pauahi Street,
seeing each other in doorways
after the night.
I Would
In 1948
I walked all the way
to 14th Street
to buy a bow and arrow.
It was 30 cents; I had 29.
The woman sold it to me anyway
and I was free and happy
on Sixth Avenue
as any Indian.
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