Mime

A poem.

Mime Like the mime
he shapes his peace,
moving slow as summer rivers,
between intended pauses. Across the water at its edge –
that line parting dense foliage
from the still dark marsh –
this bright streak steps and stalks, his graceful "S"
neck
stretching to a thin white line:
elusive great egret
halting me on the path. – Marilyn Peretti