Have you been dreaming of herons,
Great Blue Herons?
Do they follow as you walk—
A lone heron
A shadow of herons
on the waterline or desolate streets,
in the ditch by the township road,
on tar-black posts
that stay a dock in the
mainland harbour, while ferries pass
and two grey herons dance
and turn to the sound of your silent heart?
Have you been dreaming of herons;
are you mirrored in their black-bead eyes?
Their presence insists a question,
as they drift, a shadow of herons,
at the corner of your sight.
They are asking where you’ve been.
Do you know this place and still
believe that you are standing
in a city or farm or meadow or street?
Have you been dreaming of herons—
a lone heron perched in the tall-grass,
raising its wings in symmetrical worship?
With slowest motion, it lifts
bright grey pinions.
And the sky collapses
to a black strand,
to wet sand,
and a storm passing.
For this is where you are,
and you have been reminded.