The Heron

A poem I wrote last week:


There is murder in your neck
A coiled and hissing viper
How you hold it, tensed
In tendons, you stalking
Dripping heron, with the
Patience of a priest
Pacing the cloister

The red release of
Springing sinew is
The holy flash of
God-light on the nave

There will never be
A calculus to
Capture every contour
Yet preserve the very
Violence of your curve