A whimsical
invitation to Robert
Sund To get back up,
Come around, and make--
us all run for mayor,-------
laugh at ourselves,
lose,
and understand at least once again.

Fat rusting
tankers at the
ends
Of long chains,

Waiting their precious
Individual turns
To come forth and
suckle -

In the early morning fog Lying down;
Or the late morning sun, Rising
or just
the failing light...




At the smack,
slap
muddy edge Of
outgoing
brackish slough water

In that
failing light,
Great Herons arrange themselves
Statuesque, akimbo

waiting for their
one quick dart

that is a whole day’s work …..

- Dale Zeretzke