The egrets leave their mark in the mud
As if on the dark side of the moon
With me alone to witness their foot prints
Before the tides erase them
We are not allowed to leave
Anything behind
The silent stalkers in this remote existence
Struggling to find identity
Striding ever so carefully as to not
Upset the delicate balance of nature
Or show others of our kind
Where we might have strode
We stumble constantly over unforeseen things
The stones protruding from the mud
The carved hearts of strangers left
But we can not leave
If we are to remain invisible
Egrets strutting with long legs
And long memories
Seeking substance among
The debris
Fearful to eat too much
Always aware that the incoming tide
Can take it all away
At any moment.
No comments:
Post a Comment