Lone cormorant startled
off the beaver pond, with
skip stone feet northward
to broader
deeper waters.
As I will be, I thought, for faith
will always draw one
beneath the surface or
through migratory channels
less traveled, in
limitless measure,
not for a season only, but
until one is carrion washed up
in the morning
on some silent shoreline
obscure.
Besides, no one
speaks of the cormorant
with song unheard, only
seen from distances
in ones or twos or threes flying in the
ancient ways of earth and instinct,
held precious still in the heart of
the Original Dreamer
while most men sing ‘long party lines
like clipped and caged canaries.
Lone cormorant startled
off the beaver pond, with
skip stone feet northward
to broader
deeper
waters.
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My favorite so far, James…thank you.
“…precious still in the heart of the Original Dreamer…” A handsome poem.