And Herons Flew Across The Sky

Two in as many days,
No harbingers of doom,
Only memory bearers,
Calling me backwards.

The snag with nests,
Four in a row,
Where pterodactyl birds recline,
In ancient instinctual style.

And time morphs fluidly,
Pulled across days and miles,
Calling into question
The meaning of home.

So many eras,
A heart spread thin,
Such love and longing,
Loss and glorious joy.

They glide so smoothly,
Yet heavy in the sky,
And leave me wondering,
And simultaneously thankful.