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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 1, March 2012


Penny Harter
Mays Landing, New Jersey, USA

The Great Blue

Perched on a piling in the cove a great blue heron stares into the shallow waters, waiting to spear mullet. I stare at him, then lose myself in the web of sea-grasses that ripples just under the surface. Sunlight owns this water, and schools of mullet carry it as they dart by.

warm, your hand
in mine as we hold on
against the tide

Earlier, a migrating flock of white pelicans passed high overhead, their spiral quickly fading to a tracery against the distant blue.

finding every day
your handwriting on scraps
that escaped recycling—
what would you say now,
love, and in what tongue?

Let us praise the heron's motionless poise, the weaving dance of sea grass, the quicksilver glimmers of tiny fish, the scribbles migrating pelicans give to the sky. These need no translation.

young again
in last night's dream
a shooting star



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