Joan M. Howard
This October twenty-seventh, one day
in years without you, seated on lake’s dock,
I watch late afternoon’s white haloed sun,
lights shading gray-blue, gold, then blinding white.
Sky south, then east, two arrows slowly stream,
heads rainbow prisms, cirrus shafts down arced.
These prisms enter widening halo’s target rim,
and when they do, transform to white.
Blue heron also watches, beak lifted
immobile, high, as if in ecstatic rest,
wings slightly unfurled, underwing linings
white as that sun, and holds and holds as if
in salute. I hold and hold too,
in daily extraordinary, this – you.
Author’s Comment: I was seated on the dock when this extraordinary sky transpired. The heron incident happened while paddling by in a kayak – the sun too perfect and warm for both of us to resist reverence!
Bio: Joan Howard’s poetry has appeared in The Road Not Taken:The Journal of Formal Poetry, Lucid Rhythms, Victorian Violet, the Deronda Review, Our Pipe Dreams, The Reach of Song and others.