Ciclo CCCXC

The heron does not know it is a study for flight mechanisms. It stands in the shallows like a compass set to the earth’s tilt, one leg bent like a question the water already answers. The ripples do not bend to meet it — they bend because it is there, because the canal is a page where every disturbance is a comma the heron’s stillness does not sign. The beak waits. The eye does not blink. Grace, if it is grace, arrives in the form of hunger.