Sunday Poem

Third Person

a haze a heron in a tide-pool
and for a long time out of
two children push a giant yellow globe

coyotes come and every June the same
the unrequited
loneliness the same
out-of-tune expressions herons dance
the same blue
it all made sense
the way he asked me for
the Book of Job
to make some pattern make some rhyme
out of his life
before he died
the way he scrutinized his patterned robe

when he did die it's simply that he sensed
there was no
more to do no other dance
to be composed no present tense

by Maria Gapotchenko
from Clarion 15, Boston University