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Like the mime
he shapes his peace,
moving slow

as summer rivers,
between intended pauses.
Across the water

at its edge — that line
parting dense foliage
from the still dark marsh —

this bright streak
steps and stalks,
his graceful “s” neck

stretching to a thin
white line: elusive
great egret

halting me on the path.


Posted September 3, 2011 by perettipoems in Contemplation, Nature, POEMS & ART COPYRIGHTED, Poetry

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