Posted by: Moses | November 7, 2003

Dutiful Silence


I halt, ensnared by grasping limbs,
Then onward. Goals aren’t reached through rest.
My sight, the morning fog condemns,
I stumble on, my home, my quest.
But feet are plunged in unseen cove,
And I, a grudging stork, splash back.
With shore regained, I will not rove,
While fog remains and sight I lack.
Dawn’s mist retreats, toward shore it flies,
Apollo strikes, and stragglers fade,
With writhing arms, brave fog defies,
Till routed, doomed, it lurks in shade.
This inland sea begins to wake,
With haze, its blanket, now withdrawn,
But splendor fades to placid lake,
Its brilliance hushed by morning’s yawn.
Lake’s lord, the heron, icthys’ bane,
Lifts off and soars from nearby bay.
He prances down from lofty reign,
Enfolds his wings and waits for prey.
Drab bull frogs rest on emerald rafts;
The mayflies swirl in airborne dance.
A breeze stirs cattails’ supple shafts,
As dew-drops die on a sunbeams’ lance.
I search the shores for shortest swim,
And find where the banks almost converge;
But stay my splash on unsure whim,
Yet loathe to perfect silence scourge.
The heron waits, an arrow drawn;
Drawn taught to capture careless fishes.
Graceful ess turns blacksmith’s brawn;
Silence shatters, yet he misses.
The bull frogs leap as if on queue;
I smile, plunk plunk, sound’s colors soar;
The mayflies swirl and buzz from view.
I dive and swim for farther shore.


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