Roseate Spoonbill Swimming Splashless Poem by Bernard Henrie

Swans and arching herons open like regatta sails
and launch into flight, but my eye sees a cousin,

a Roseate Spoonbill fishing alone for hours
in cold turquoise reed beds, wading deeper on legs

rough as tobacco leaf, eyes glassy as Roman coins;
lipstick-smeared wings and pod-feet, vigilance

gives them a dour appearance, but they resolve
for independence; proffered bread crusts ignored.

A soft whir, two new birds arrive on stubby wings,
spaced evenly like patients in a waiting room;

The placid regurgitation for babies, their monogamy;
I observe their detachment and sober self-reliance.

My boss, the 1st Asst. Deputy and his boss, the Chief
can find no fault or error in these recondite birds.

If my mind fails, and it is, if places and dates blur
like a man without his glasses, i hope to fly nameless

over salt tidelands, fish like an old woman on a pier,
silent all day holding a worthless pole and bucket.