Because a blue heron flew overhead,
It was a good day to butter bread,
To listen to James Taylor, Stockbridge to Boston,
And visit the Garden of the Unsuccessful Politician.
A good day to ask a clock what makes it tick,
Or place one brick upon another brick,
To remember that if you think, there are ripples,
But also if you don’t think, there are ripples.
And because a blue heron flew overhead,
We swept up the porch, we made up the bed.
We bought packaged shirts, then took out their pins.
We placed gray umbrellas in clear storage bins.
There was a road, a lake, a moonlit field,
A brow to be soothed, a wound to be healed.
Stockbridge to Boston. Sweet Baby James.
The glory, the wonder, the sheer joy of names!
And my life was a story of thread and unthread
Because a blue heron flew overhead.
from This Shadowy Place: Poems (St. Augustine’s Press, 2014)