The Lure of Feather
By Karen Lee Lewis
6 Nov 2012
There is stillness in hunger within the Green Heron,
within me as I wait for a poem to stop fidgeting.
Together we linger while the lure of feather does its work,
killing time before the next death strikes a blow.
Not sure of the angle. Not knowing yet
if a wound or a clamp will be the cure.
I like it when the Green Heron opens her beak
because it is bright, bright as the orange
Touch-me-nots nodding to her left,
nectar warm within the spurs.
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