Stephen Knauth

Blue Heron Suite

1.

Blue heron, bedraggled and godless,
exile from the halls of language,
vagabond of the water’s edge,
standing for hours without complaint
as if patience itself is a way of faith.
He stabs the water, swallows.
Let my doubts be bright fish in that pond.

2.

By the rank end
of a shapeless yellow slough
he stands alone, question mark
at the center of things. A gentle current
pushes gentle waves across his silver shadow.
He cannot weep or kneel
and rarely looks up.
Standing perfectly still on the surface of the earth,
not-watching us watching him.

3.

Severity
in the cold sickle of his face,
solemnity in his long slow sweeping ascent.
Once, under bare willows near the river,
we found a mound of frayed quills,
long bones of the wings and legs
sheathed in blue ice.

Stephen Knauth

is the author of the collections The River I Know You By and Twenty Shadows, both from Four Way Books. His work has appeared in Ploughshares, FIELD, North American Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, New Letters, and Poetry Daily, as well as in numerous anthologies. He has held fellowships from the NEA and the North Carolina Arts Council. A compendium of his work is forthcoming from Four Way Books. He lives in Charlotte.