Above Remorse

I am fond of grace
that arrives in the fountain
of my life
like a heron
arriving, wings stretched
and floating to the edge
of some shimmering liquid space,

above remorse
for his awkward beauty.

The valley of loneliness
is behind him now.

He sits quietly
waiting for the earth
and sky to spew wisdom.

Meanwhile, the light leaves us with the summer
like water draining into the pinpoints
of the stars.