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Heron Shapes at Dusk
I know the heron that's made this beach his own
Between the headlands, slants like a poised spear
Invisible in the driftwood where I peer --
And there he goes now, fl apping off alone.
Later his shape breaks out of some gray stone
That the low tides leave bare this time of year,
Then further down, in deeper dusk, lifts clear
Where only a black tangle of kelp had shown.
Then over by the cliff s, in the near dark there,
I see a heron shape become a girl
Hunched with her trouble there on the driftwood.
The shore a place of human bad and good,
Not herons now, so stony stark her stare
At the late red fading from a cloud-swirl.