heron ovenbird I am not dreaming and I am not sleeping and I am not dead. In this space that is nowhere and everywhere I am visited by something other. A heron descends and superimposes its body onto mine. We are one. When I roll to my left side and draw my knees to my chest the heron’s sharp limbs follow delicately. I see my body as if from above, a fetal curl positioned lovingly in death, poised on the brink of being born. (The heron’s head is pulled in close in a shape that means finality, the means beginning). My body is a palimpsest upon which the heron writes its sinuous form. I am not erased but we can’t be separated. When I wrap my arms around myself I feel a feathery flutter. I exist in a liminal space–somewhere between bone and bird, somewhere between here and there, somewhere between self and oblivion. I am Erodius, no longer human because the gods have willed it. I am the universe contemplating itself. I am nothing and everything and yours, in whatever form I find myself. 250613 what's it to you? who go blather from