"Hope and Love."
All winter the blue heron slept among the horses.
I do not know the custom of herons,
do not know if the solitary habit is their way,
or if he listened for some missing one,
not knowing even that was what he did in the blowing sounds
in the dark.
I know that hope is the hardest love we carry.
He slept with his long neck folded like a letter put away.