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
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,