The Loon on Oak-Head Pond

cries for three days, in the gray mist.
cries for the north it hopes it can find.
plunges, and comes up with a slapping pickerel.
blinks its red eye.
cries again.
you come every afternoon, and wait to hear it.
you sit a long time, quiet, under the thick pines,
in the silence that follows.
as though it were your own twilight
as though it were your own vanishing song.

~ Mary Oliver

From House of Light

Photo credit: Harold Wilion

Posted by Robert McBryde

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