Comment on this article


Heron on Ice
by Lyn Lifshin

Pale salmon light, 9 degrees. Floor tiles icy. Past branches the beaver's gnawed
at the small hole the heron waits, deep in the water. Sky goes apricot, tangerine, rose.
Suddenly, a dive, then the heron with sun squirming in his mouth, a carp that looks a
third as big as he is gulped, then swallowed, orange glittering wildly like a flag or the
wave of someone drowning

Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]