Blue Herons

Blue Herons

I stopped asking about the mouse

in my apartment.  It is dead; I buried

it in the back of the house, but first

I set it on fire. Never again will it haunt me

in my own space, or steal my words

or walk among the images in my poems.   

Today my unwritten lines will speak

about a thousand and one blue herons

darkening the magnolias with their parasols.