Here is my fallen angel, the heron
as it lifts large grey wings.

In repose a common bird, neck too long,
too awkward to be beautiful.

In the air the heron's wings span
all known cosmologies.

The wing itself a cosmology,
a fallen angel, beautiful

with a complexity of feathers,
with the motion of flight.

Comparing the wing, or the heron,
to an angel, I construct a mystery—

earthly seen as divine, a spirit
circumnavigating heaven.

But the concept of angels
(fallen or otherwise)

resurrects this rain day event
of the heron taking flight.

Here is the bird, a harbinger of space,
measuring the world between earth and sky;

measuring the world as an angel measures
the distance between what I am and could be.

Copyright by Carolyn Zonailo: www.carolynzonailo.com, 2004