SNOWY EGRET

by Daniel Wolff

 

 

This Tuesday in April,
the first egret of last Fall
flies back across
the rain-soft sky.

It’s as white and brief as a dream.

When it lands
on the rock dam,
black water rushes past
its yellow-green feet.

Exactly as (I’d almost swear) before.

But where was this water then?
And where was I?
And what does a dream
fly back across?

 

 

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