The Luck of Two Herons

The young rooster crows
early this morning
as summer begins to fade
with the exhalation toward fall
and all things dark.

He is finding his voice—
finally gathering the sound
of wisdom in his chest
and making that mighty sound
fly from his throat
while he still
has a chance.

Birds are like that.

Yesterday
two herons circled
the lake into which I dive—
gather the truth of myself
together in the waters
so that I might make it
through another winter—
gather the light in my skin
and in the blood that will be
made in my bones.

The luck of two herons
circling above my head
and reflected on the surface
of this mighty pond
is almost enough.
I might live forever
with this much joy. . .
with this much good fortune.

I grab a breath,
pull myself under,
glide smoothly
for a long and delighted
blessing of water--

an enlightened flight.