The city meets the river

Sludge washes greasy pilings

The air is a smudge, the water a stain

The sun is a sore in a bandage of smoke

In the streets, we bow our heads

     and we choke

 

The heron meets the river

Balanced upon an immaculate leg

Wing flared to bring all to stillness

In the next moment, it is done

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                                                         Shoreline

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