I looked up to see the heron glide
through the sky’s door
and my eyes traced the slate wings
until they disappeared beyond
the crown of cottonwood trees.
In those instants of gazing,
a lifetime? I lifted up, felt my self
as bird, a miracle of flight,
a mastery of wing,
untethered, a cageless thing.
Now I look up, as if by looking
I might induce a return—
see the long crooked neck pulling
the great bird like gray thread
through a blue weave of sky.
I am wanting more lessons
in wing, but the sky unfolds only more sky,
and so I must learn from emptiness—
to quiet, to open, to clear,
to connect in this way with every thing.