a blue heron turns to my whistle,
i'm not sure he sees me moving
down in my darkening boat
but i know what poetry is
the night is warm,
the radio is playing,
i've made tea to ease this headache
from the beer this afternoon
and the lousy food; i should know
better, but i know what poetry is
i saw my doctor today,
she took up the visit gladly,
talking and probing, then showed
me her smaller office, the drawers
banging into each other now,
and i knew she knew what poetry is