Bittern

The grasses bend, quiver
In an expanse of green and sudden brown
For the bittern is there amongst them
Beak upward
Yet curved slightly
In a smile

	With the reeds
	Among the reeds
	One of the reeds

Swaying swaying
Body more pliable than its call
Which is clear and yet mingling
So well in the
Sora sandhill snipe chorus
Of a summer afternoon

Deeper is the drum
Stone dropping into a well
Gurgle and thump
Of the bittern

A constant cadence
Sounding as if to say
	
	I am returned
	Not just to the water
	But to myself
	Who is of the water






Jillian Makoutz

Jillian Makoutz lives in Northern California with her partner, her three children, and their cats and chickens. She enjoys bird watching and writing poems about nature.