On Moosehead Lake

by John Grey

As I nod off,
a white egret
occupies the edge of my eye— 
no sound, 
only the peace
of being stone-like
in the shade,
a body open to breeze,
but forgotten by daylight.
 
The bird moves
surreptitiously--
a flash of wing,
a flick of beak,
that tuning fork
for the hidden pulse
of fish and frog.
 
I’m busy with memory
so I miss the kill,
the sudden lunge,
the silver writhing
swallowed whole.
 
The egret pauses
for a moment to digest
then resumes its ritual
of stillness and motion.
 
What’s instinct for a bird
is my way of thinking.

* * *

JOHN GREY is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, River And South and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Rush, White Wall Review and Trampoline.

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