by Pavel Chichikov
Two herons tuck their legs behind
Retract their necks – with sunset carmine off the wing
Fly north into the darkness of the trees
Immobile are the faces of these birds
And yet within their blank reptilian eyes
Night's innocent reflection
Feathered pterodactyls
Male and female plane their level sails
Two pointers of their beaks bisecting north
Nail through in points the dark ambiguous,
Ancient certainties unwavering
Their powerful slow pinions stroke
They for whom no time exists
Grace of instincts and the waves of air
Released from earth exhaling aim them there
Ancient guides themselves
By sunlight falling they are led to sleep and trust
Leave sunlight on the cambered west
I too have a nest of sleep
That some time has been shown to me
Of which I never cease to think
For I have been in secret there of late
And seen the chicks of charity and faith
And love itself, spread lovingly its sunward wing
I have the light beside me as I go
Leftward on the shoulder, rightward darkness,
South, the widowed virgin of the sun
Then a fishing bird and still unbated here
I'll rise by eager lifting from the shallow stream
Sun grace redly burning on the spans of dusk
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
