For Rick Barot

The definition of metaphor

is the transfer of burden,

so pay attention.

There is the heron of my longing:

the curve of neck, stilt of legs,

blue, breakable, prone to flight.

The summer of my certainty:

lit with streaks of a fox’s tail

slipping back into the woods.

The house of my mother’s madness:

worn front steps lost

to waist high weeds and debt.

Now watch a small bird building

her nest inside a watering can,

darting each piece of straw through

the one round opening.

Imagine a young chick learning

to fly by launching itself skyward,

the stunned drop to the bottom,

rattle of wings inside metal,

mocking blue coin of sky,

and name it.