by Michael Aspros

Beneath the blackwood trees,

Long trunks disguised in obsidian blackness.

Floating light fading on the shoreline,

I feel the icy moon carried by the wind.

The long-billed curlew falls by the river.

Head held high, she struts on wet sand

Flaunting a copper mottle vest.

Her aquamarine elbows shimmer—

Her method to know nothing

Is everything—She probes that thin,

Seriously long, curved bill around

Large root knuckles showing above the sand,

Her jerky steps and slough sedge

Hold back night from falling.

Michael Aspros works with regional wildlife conservancies. His poetry has appeared in Raven Chronicles, Madrona Project, The Grove Review, and Bird Alliance of Oregon’s The Warbler. His poetry has been selected for public art installations along the MAX Light Rail Line in Portland, Oregon.