Vague half-credence of a coincidence,
working some dream that we place
into another quick phenomena--

just as I looked up, birthed from the side
of a Red Maple and with an omen of shadow
upon the chipped plats of ground,
a Great Blue Heron god flying over.

The temptation is to give it meaning,
as help to grasp what comes after
the air spicing beak,
the long throttle of neck,
the combs of light feathers
from a body stretched outward
with bones unrecessed along
flights of private horizons….

That is the something, while below
are the swift plays of chance that include
the plundering of the holes of ghosts

writhing in this surround that was/is here,
somewhere. Called attention. Which includes
also insignificance, new ruffles of lilies,

from the stamina of a winged migrations
or the quiet muddy lake bottom
depths at the height of hibernation.

Conditions don’t meet up as they were meant,
instead rive and merge within the innate
behaviors, such as how we might form
from the muck brown of our imagination.