Description is revelation.
There's such fragility to what we know
for most of it, we're only guessing:
About the advent of rain, last love, first robin,
the fate of the soula Fall in opposite?
Like a great heron as she rises from the river,
that slow deliberate lifting
of her body's weight
into the air, not held back
the corporal freight of beak and wing
and hollowed bone in balance,
intent on the wind,
a sure ascent,
clearing the pines: her plumage ash
and thunder blue and luminous
in the lightning's flash,
in the sweet cold rain.