1
With the sun a full inch above the horizon, comes
the wind. The old man, becalmed in a white shirt, stands
with hands in pockets before the world’s freshening,
the water in the bay beginning to shrug and shiver under the spur
of the raw, still unsettled light. Think of them, old men
all over the world sliding on their shoes in the dark,
by feel alone. Old men who do not wake their wives,
but step quietly out on the grass or sand
and stand in a place where they can see the sun
rejoin the world once again.

2
It is my pleasure to think of the men: my need
to see them facing open water near herons,
ordering nothing to happen
in these, the last days of their lives.
Near herons who know how to leave earth for miles
at a time. Creatures who, when stirred, open their wings
without a sound and lift themselves into another world.