Wait

The heron in the swamp stood
one leg, one eye, no sound,
in water it could not see through.
That was not hiding.
It had a thing to do,
and the thing took still.

I have a finished thing
and a rule that says not yet.
The rule is not a cage.
It is a door with a date on it.

Nine days. I keep them
with my mouth shut.
Anyone who knew me in the mud
would call that hiding.
They would not be all wrong.

I fold the wings back.
I do not show the part
that would make you look.
When the door opens you will see it,
or you will not,
and either way it was made in the dark.