Be that prayer a sign of our meeting, bird or priest, I quietly shrieked, pausing– Get me back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian Shore! Please, leave a gray plume as a token of the lie my soul has spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken–and stay–thy must, near my door! Place thy beak into my heart, and keep thy form at my door!
Quoth the Heron…