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Coots
Don Hynes
May 17, 2013
First light crawls across the lake
carving geese and birds against the purple sky,
orange flames spiraling into spring cold,
the language of the sun written in light
upon the sleeping world,
the night walkers solace folded
like the heron’s broad wing,
the coots thin faces suddenly white
on the edges of the wind,
drifting in the shallows
as if on the first morning,
their wings on the water
beside swaying cattails
disturbing the peace
with their wildness.
http://donhynes.com/blog/?p=1277