Blue Heron
The startled blue heron erupts out of its long-legged
inwardness and flies low to the pond over its
shadow. My eye flickers between its great sweep
of wings and its blurred mirror motion almost white
in the pond’s sky-shine. At the end of each wingbeat,
the long body dips toward its rising shadow. Now
the heron settles back down onto itself as far away
from me as the pond allows and I finish my walk half gangly,
half graceful thinking if I were a bird, this is how I’d fly.
by Nils Peterson
from All the Marvelous Stuff ,
Caesura Editions, 2019
—winner for poetry, San Francisco Book Festival 2020