Green Heron

A little green in a fine mist.
Its chest veed by what isn't
rust.

Hunched against the dusk,
it stands on what must be
rock.

I watch it succeed
at trying to remain
unseen.

Always its beak aimed
at those marks which aren't
rain.

Copyright © 2009 Daniel Wolff All rights reserved
from Subtropics
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission