It's Still Life

One Heron

It came from the river’s grey throat,
one syllable of stillness
written against moving sky.

On the neighbour’s ridge,
it folds its long prayers
into the shape of patience.
Legs like reeds.
Neck like questions.
Waiting for the world to offer something
worthy of its hunger.

But know:
the soul does not arrive.
It alights.
And stays only as long as
the heart can bear the weight
of its leaving.

Written for MicroDosing Fiction “Birds in the Sky” 70 words sans title. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.