the white between my eyes is yours

yellow-crowned night heron performs in a ballet,
keen of eye, slicing seriously through the
bright green algae, with its even brighter
yellow legs.

it is stilted.
it does not break the fourth wall.

it is standing room only.
broken slate steppes water passes over easily.
one goose, for all the ducks  dabbling–
could only be some domestic, tho it
truly favors the greater white-fronted.

i put her on.
her beak suits me.
her make-up broadens my chest in which an
accordion weaves stories preachers daughters say.
the white between my eyes is where we all
exist, eventually.