Time and space, emptying themselves, sketch fermatas in the sky.
An incongruous croaking lifts my gaze above the quarry rim
to silhouettes perplexing the buoyant air.
Great blue herons settle in the crown of an oak,
conjuring perches among the leaves and twigs.
Their verticals hold and rise in a magisterial skyline.
Time and space stretch taut, tuned strings
that sing to a pedestrian moment
above the world.
Wind, or a thought, or the conflict of grace and gravity
unsettles the pose. The birds become avians again.
My logic embarks on wings.