Can’t believe the heron landing on our house

long arrow beak and doubling height
           of his unfurled neck

bones opening in my spine

or last night the ash a scaffold for the moon –

snowball caught in a web

or this morning spider lines guyed to the tree

hanging out to weigh a soggy sun

or the heron’s pendulous flop on a too-small-tree

a would-be-snake sun-streaked

reaching until

we’re both swallowing the blunt ends of summer.