The landings of this world are rehearsed:
And so the heron sinks into the water and the deer
Joins in the flood, and so the face of one’s mother joins
The lies that save her face:
Always there is war flaming in South Africa
Always empires are dying and refueling
Always the children grow more staid than their parents
And love seems to darken in each walk by the river:
The silence of the brook is a place for heron, for deer:
And soon the wind will break in the dogwoods; the light
Will snag in the willow–and love, love
Shall it ever follow me to the river?
From Take Five: Collected Poems, 1971-1986, by Kenneth McClane
