a great blue heron flaps and lifts
from the estuary
where splintered pallets float
gathering the daily tide of wrappers and scum

the bird tilts
veers back over the freeway
fishing line hanging from its feet

to a cypress where it
luffs its wings
dances for footing, slightly
hampered by the monofilament

before settling onto branches
nodding under its weight
above East Bay traffic

neither of us can do anything
about the problem
but I’m the one with fingers it takes