The long dark
settles in,
like a child
with covers
tucked up
to their chin
in anticipation
of vague
dreams and
a stretch
of hushed
sleep.
A wispy
smoke heron
out in the lake
balances on
one twig leg.
Steady as
the drizzle
starts,
steady as
the long dark
descends.
There will
wait the heron
for the long dark
to subside,
when he can glimpse
quick shimmer fish
and snatch
a writhing
prize.
Patient is
the heron—
for what
begins
must end.
Patient is
the heron
as the
long
dream
dark
descends.
pm poetry 