The Heron

He appeared from the mist;
that ancient damp magic -
masked and stoic,
colossal, but unassuming -
just consumed
in soul-staring
with tarred eyes into
a slippery, anxious
culture.

I don't see a messenger,
but a traveller carrying the hulk
of time in a huge feathered shell
and never drops it -
like he has seen everything 
yet still finds
life effulgent, 
worthy of his watch. 


LJ Ireton, 2024 

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