The Rookery

I tell her about the heron rookery

in the trees behind the Charleston cafe

she just started managing.

Snowy egrets perched

in the leafless hardwoods

and green conifers.

Pearls right there,

a luster on high,

seen,

never touched

or transacted,

always appraised on sight.

She wasn’t aware. She is now.

I sense enthusiasm in her education.

She might even be giddy.

If you can become giddy

about a heron rookery in America these days,

you just might survive

and love again.

I guess that’s my gig these days,

announcements of rookeries,

because once you see one,

you’ll want everyone to know.