Heron arrived with a missive from the gods
hovering, waiting, slow ripples in the pond
wisdom this rich must choose its moment
Eurydice knew him in an era before the Heron
wrote him poems of saudade, semiotic dances
to coax the veils collapse, in slow, pained patience
Orpheus felt a steady sensation, like petals cascading
from a redbud tree of destiny that grows
on the banks of an oracle, his voice silence
dreaming, her embodied plea unanswered
Heron awoke, prophetic steps, a new era
watching, Heron bowed elegantly, low to the water
“It’s time” and the mirror of the sky rippled
pond transmuted to threshold, when she
bent low to see her reflection she found him
singing his mythic songs, her lover returned
as he came upon the shoreline to lie
beneath the sun, recognizing this liminal gift
of soft petals, her voice lilting like a breeze
caresses that she follows with her lips
upon his embodied plea, as flowers fall
Posted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub, please join us!
Chromapoetica 
Thank you for this gorgeous heron poem, Anna, which filled the space where our local heron should be – I haven’t seen it since last year. I especially love the lines:
‘Eurydice knew him in an era before the Heronwrote him poems of saudade, semiotic dancesto coax the veils collapse, in slow, pained patience’.
Love the mythical song and theme of time and destiny. And that ebb and flow of the last stanza is amazing Anna. Good to see you!
I love herons, and I can believe this about them. A lovely poem of myth and nature.
WP is being quirky.
A lovely poem of myth and nature. When I watch a heron, I can believe all this is true.
This is extraordinary and multilayered, and (past my bedtime in UK) I shall come back and reread the luscious language tomorrow.
A really beautiful post. Did you do the painting of the heron. It is wonderful.
such magnificent creatures. i see them frequently in my hood. beautiful poem to honor their majestic form.
I always have time for a Eurydice / Orpheus poem! And I love the image – did you paint it?
Few alcoholics die sober — most stay rapt in the obsession for booze as it drags them into oblivion. Waking from one’s unconscious state is the psychological / spiritual challenge of every human, and I take that waking to be the recognition that my life is only its present one, and the dead are very much alive in my waking the growing and learning and writing. Poetry is — for me at least — the voice of “silence dreaming,” a means of waking to the dead infinium within. I figure our cats were very good people in a past life, cozy deal they get in this one. The stillness and pregnancy and regnancy of this Heron’s moment is the whole song Orpheus must sing.
Beautiful! And lovely to think that all is not lost forever.
Delightfully beautiful and the poem sings of wisdom, and your words paint that magic you bring to poetry.