Spirit

(Written Sunday, September 11, 2011)

A decade passed, and I drift in
with the river's light, this sun
a static flame
on water inviting
everything and everyone
to step near. A heron
stretches her white neck, her beak
towing a green leaf
toward the stone wharf. She is all
you will sense, perceive of me,
a returned flight
that listens and latches on
to a floating remnant
of Summer, an emblematic patch
from your city's lower
east side tree.