Heron

The sprarkle of the blue water glimmers

as the heron conceals his fish.

Nails driven through the coffin

seal her wrinkled skin.

With my brother’s horse I

pull her to the ocean.

I pull the reigns of the tethers

as the wood drags in the sand.

My father is up above watching.

Tears trickle down his calloused skin.

Sixteen years ago he showed her how to die

with the water and with the waves.

His one task remained, to blow with the wind

and give the herons flight.

Ellen flows through the channels

to meet her Alfred’s joy.

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