Saturday, October 3, 2015


With the legs 
of a dancer

and the throat 
of a snake,

the egret picks its 
atop the silt lake

Pausing, in places,
to hook a sharp head

as if trying to fathom
a voice from the dregs.

But no,  
that's me 

projecting my own,
for Autumn is homed   

Bringing ghosts to the breeze 
that blows from these trees

ghosts of regret,
and ghosts I can't see,

as the egret stabs Narcissus
straight in the eye

stunning the vibrating fish
with its lance 

which it will keep there,
before working it down

then chasing success
with a quick nip of brine

before finally, without guile,
stretching wide the white wings—

So soundlessly, sated, 
a bird lights for the marsh,

leaving only the shadows
of angels behind.

Great egret


the walking man said...

I would if but for a moment trade eyes with you Sarah. Hopefully you would keep mine closed while you had them though.

Sarah Hina said...

Hang out at the lake, Mark, and you might see what I see.

Charles Bane, Jr. said...

Very beautiful work.

Sarah Hina said...

That means a lot. Thank you.

Aniket Thakkar said...

Ghosts are good
And ghosts are free
They play with 'em all
Them thous and thees

For just a little space
In your closet
They keep you on your feet
And grounded

You should not sulk
But yell Yahoo!
Ok, now look behind you

Sarah Hina said...


(What can I say? I sneeze when I'm scared. And it's dirty in my closet. All those skeletons are collecting some pretty serious dust.)

Aniket Thakkar said...

Slain one too many with your words, eh?

Sarah Hina said...

Didn't you know?

You're the only one left.