GREY HERON, UPSIDE DOWN
At that time of day, in the almost-double light,
As I was crossing the bridge between
My favourite pair of water-meadows,
The very dark grey back
Of the bird at the edge of the pool
Was not visible against
The glooming water or the grassy bank –
Only its black reflection in
A patch of lighter rippling
Suddenly showed up: the heron standing
On its head, seemingly balanced on a heavy log,
Until, walking on, I saw the bird itself,
Stretching its neck higher into the twilight.
Just so one may mis-read anything,
Making no allowance for point of view
Or the possible illumination that shows up
The anomalous path to making sense:
Ignorance, mistakes, whatever assorted
Shades of blunder and misconception
Take your fancy – you can be sure
If there’s a hole we’ll fall into it, open
As we are to almost any kind of misdirection,
Reading as always what we want to read.
The answer is to keep moving, mind wide open,
Baggage light, and be alert for the moment
When you see the heron standing on its head…
Then you’ll get it, how one thing leads to
To a different other, how to differentiate between dark
And even darker, in the evening or not.
