(Destroyed by Drought
Your rustle sounded of light feathers
migrating into night.
At dawn I watched you skimming grass,
a white stroke
sketched upward out of green,
by slender drooping branches.
Your leaves shimmered at high noon.
What you lacked was pond, marsh,
the brotherhood of reeds.
Hatched here on this dry infested plain
you sought dark moving water,
found searing sky.
In cool shadows
the fine parchment of your heron limbs
rose into dusk.