Pamela Epps Tampa. (Rhonda J Nelson)
The Great Blue Heron stands on the bank,
its feathers like a long cloak
or tanned hide worn in ceremony.
His neck translucent in the sun is
a question mark turned upside down.
What does the river hold today?
Sun rises pink then orange over the river.
An owl’s last call before she rests.
Later sun peeks her head
from behind cloud’s chest.
Lessons in awe written
on the cerulean sky.
The week begins on the heels
of unconsummated dreams.
I wake to heat and wind.
The day thrums with the cicada's call for
mates while the palm fronds swish
their long hair and the old rusty bell
still swings her feeble song.
No wind today.
The only movement whistling ducks
winging in dawn’s muted light.
Later warblers hide in leaves
occasionally dropping down to feed.
The earth holds vigil for rain.
Rain crackles on the aluminum roof.
You wake chilled and achy.
I bring a cup of peppermint tea
and elderberry syrup for healing.
I swim in your blue eyes
glassy with fever.
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