Sculpin - Oyster - Heron

 6 Sept 2020
Willingdon Park
Powell River, BC

I want to rubbish those tired words,

   words that nose sand,

   foraging as pretense,

                    until magnetic sculpin

                            scours chance to morsel remnants

                            scared up by him with

                            up look eyes atop flat skull.

Down below my crocs,

  oyster squints through porcelain lips

  lest she be pried wide,

                    exposing sanctum

                    for picking clean:

                    white bones strewn among

                            the cities of her sisters.

Stains of heron's yester meal

   embellish concrete,

   that nods along the water's lap.

                   He grunted our intrusion,

                   S neck sheathed in ragged,

                   Clumsied to the corner,

                   then, throating scorn,

                           lurched upon the sky.

                  One loose feather fallen back to sea.