Poetry
        
            
    
            
                     Snapshot - General Audience
            
    
         1 min
    
                                            
                    The Heron
Steve Denehan
                                                                                        
                            
                            
                                                                                                I look out the car window
across night fields
 
squinting; I can see
lives I never lived
 
I drive on, into the village,
into the rain
 
a traffic light turns red;
I see Picasso-people
walking in the raindrops
running down the window
 
the crescent moon is thin
a fingernail clipping
pointless, almost;
there are no stars
 
a canal-bank heron becomes illuminated
by the headlights
as I pass;
 
I wonder why
it is not afraid
                                                                                    
                    
                            across night fields
squinting; I can see
lives I never lived
I drive on, into the village,
into the rain
a traffic light turns red;
I see Picasso-people
walking in the raindrops
running down the window
the crescent moon is thin
a fingernail clipping
pointless, almost;
there are no stars
a canal-bank heron becomes illuminated
by the headlights
as I pass;
I wonder why
it is not afraid
                © Short Édition - All Rights Reserved
            
            Explore the power of words
                                            Select a Story Collection