Like So Many Things
Through invisible fissures
bones invested the jelly
and were spooled around
with veins that traced
a floating scaffolding
of fibers, twitching
with electricity, suffused
with untouched blood
newly made for this alone.
This new being is like a heron
perched on the concrete box
that catches the beach
after the hurricane
swept away the sand.
How still he stands before
he lifts into the heavy air,
rolling his wings once
and gliding inches clear
of the water that pulses
as if it were breathing.
As if it were simple,
this thing moves forward
like a band of light
that all at once streams
over the mountain ridge.
Even though it traveled
for hours, encircling
the earth completely,
there was a moment
when it reached the limbs
of the trees, and their leaves
were undone with light.
When I reach toward this life
that lies between us, breathing
her own soft breath,
I feel that it is safe to trust
in this light that is unpredictable,
that moves directly
from one place to another,
that comes from nowhere
and suffuses everything,
that is like so many things–
the heron’s silent course,
the sand that pulls away,
the fulness of your thigh
beneath the waves
of the Potomac River.