Two Herons

Who are you?

Are you for real?

What is real?

Are you flying out here,

to the Oregon Coast?

Surely it will rain if you do.

Yes, rain!

Oregon, give it to Kat hard.

(Oregon did, 12 inches in three days. She lost her mind.)

You are a woman of the sun,

privileged, rich.

I am a man of rain,

marginalized, impoverished.

But, we both live as herons

and we’ll find a common estuary in that.

Herons, always alone,

gawky, undulating, prehistoric flight.

I could watch herons fly forever.

Will you strike your heron pose for me?

I want to write a noir story

where a woman strikes a heron pose

before she seduces a man, then murder.

Yes, she’s on acid, too, like you always are.

We will drive up a magic river gorge

and look for herons.

We’ll park and walk out to the gravel bar.

We’ll put our heads together

and conjure herons to join us.

You’ll wade in a few feet.

strike the pose.

I know at least one heron will appear.

Of course you are already one,

so that makes two.