A crane lands
at the margin of a lake.
It is lonely.
The wings feel
winter heavy, the sun
dim as a moon.
The water ripples faintly,
promising a small
movement,
rising and falling
like breath
and breaking the mirror
that is its purpose.
Quietly he wades
into the water and waits.
He depends on the rest
of life to reach out
and touch his eyes.
It will be some time
before he’s satisfied, if ever.
