The Koi

by Michael Medler

She lies,

lumpish and still
where the heron killed her,
entangled in her own entrails,
beyond swallow size.

Her sallow scales glint
in angular morning light. One
eye might catch the quick
of clouds, the other gazing

down where she left eggs
for spring. She gapes,
wavers in ripples, torn
where water falls, coasting

in sublime ugliness. Not
even food for the bird;
just kill. Just where her time
let her lie. Just there.

Heron Mathematica

by Michael Medler

If you've strayed
too close to the coterminous
of rock, of river, a chaos
of green water may pull
you in. You may crack
the ragged plane of air.

The heron will loop
down, though, a cosine
arc drawn on a silver
of sky. He will
save you; the parallels
of his slender legs
withstand the flood.

Step back and stop.