The art is not to give itself away
but inch toward while
facing the light
does not alarm its prey
moving toward the green moss log.
Then a lightning flash of white and grey
as neck and head turn into spear
the beak and throat crush the frog
that swam so unknowingly near.
This act just is, not wrong or right
Nothing eats that doesn’t kill
the laws of hunger
but pit a creature’s need and skill
against some other fate–
What a frightful place to live!
Yet still I live
to note and say
a heron lives another day
the cosmos cries, I will, will!
Nothing lives that doesn’t kill.