In the Egret’s Beak

In the egret’s beak the fish
wriggles its final moments.
When she tosses it back
and her throat pulses,
I am the fish being eaten.
On my way to oblivion, where
blackout curtains shield me
from sensory brilliance.

When I meditate,
and someone’s radio volume spikes—
Mexican music on the beach—
my hackles likewise rise until
I am peace being eaten;
on my way to extinction
of tranquility, where this time,
sensory brilliance wins.

In the egret’s beak I dangle,
praying to embrace my fate,
resistance no recourse.
Look! Sun glittering on the lake!
Feel! This moment of life!
Glory! In soon becoming egret,
gliding across the waters!
In each moment becoming another.

©Susa Silvermarie 2017