Gray Herons in the Field above the River

Now that the nights turn longer than the days
we are standing in the still light after dawn
 
in the high grass of autumn that is green again
hushed in its own place after the burn of summer
 
each of us stationed alone without moving
at a perfect distance from all the others
 
like shadows of ourselves risen out of our shadows
each eye without turning continues to behold
 
what is moving
each of us is one of seven now
 
we have come a long way sailing our opened clouds
remembering all night where the world would be
 
the clear shallow stream the leaves floating along it
the dew in the hushed field the only morning