Michael Roloff’s most recent poem to appear here was “The Good and the Bad Of It” (June 2014) 

Señor Heron 
By Michael Roloff

Still still
There on two stilts
Reed thin in the reeds
He stands

Posing for Mr. Audubon’s
Fine line pen
His light blue grey eminence
Nearly indiscernible
Within
Grey blue
Water green
Sleek reeds
His magic cap.

Thinking 

‘You can’t see me, Señor Darwin,
as little as you can see cousin Robin,
I have adapted beyond all recognition
I am part sky, part water.’

Then he flies off, creaking in the wind,
Scrapes his way hoarsely across the sky…
grey… elegant metal file…
turning into just one disappearing line.

A niche bird,
[A specialist
Nay, a super-specialist]
A solitary aristocrat
[Or pair]
With beaks to be picky with
To probe into the slimmest of cavities
[in the nichiest places…]

The finest meshed nets
Nearly a foot in length
The thinnest of funnels

Zap
And another baby salmon
Zap
Another frog
Wriggles down his elongated gullet

Everything about him is elongated…
But when he starts to fly and slowly begins to spread,
and wave his heavy, mournful wings,
like rain curtains in the wind, oh what a leaden rhythm his waving of
astonishingly wide, substantial wings… enough it seems
to lift much heavier loads than his spindly being…

No fluttering ever…
Occasionally he glides…
Just above the water
The perfect submarine hunter
A glider…

There, he perches on top of the huge spruce tree… 

There, he lowers his substantial spread, cushioning,
Segueing into Mr. Audobon’s preferred profile,
On the crown of the huge spread of the weeping willow and cries his heart out…