A Strange Bird

riding my bicycle
today
at dusk
I saw a heron inches
from the juncture
of shore and water
I wanted so very badly
to arrest me my travels
and walk down to this dusky bird
and
enthusiastically
and
adoringly
squeeze it
in my arms
as a precious childhood memento
I abstained
and sallied forth
along the trail
towards the Sellwood bridge
The river was reflecting
the low lying clouds
The river was
purple as a bruised eye
as though I had injured it by rejecting
that spontaneous affinity for the heron
of just moments ago.