Her, the Heron, Hurried Away

first, the Firebloom

anger that burst from the earth, blossomed, and now sways and dances

live and vibrant like candle flame and burial pyre, both

will it scorch us?

will we eat it whole and let it broil in our bellies?

will we stomp it out, crushed underfoot out of fear?

or will it spread like weeds and light another whole field of blossoms

blooms that will spread like wildfire in this rare dry autumn

(so dry the swamps are caked and cracked

a special season ripe for fire)

instead we abandon the earth and take to the Sea.

us two in a boat made from ore

somehow

our hearts are full

the autumn sun is warm

water cool and calm

no words now

her at the bow

there is light everywhere

in her hair, her cheeks, her eyes

on a near island, we watch a heron stalk her prey

long slow steps

a pause

She sees us now

moves with

perfect rhythm

from hunting

to Flight

eventually

we return to land

our time in the water having neither quenched the fires

nor denied them their right to burn