Dusk Over Ohio

Two months since you died. Every day
I watch from this side of the river

what looks like a dead stick in the reeds
become the neck of a blue heron

who lifts his body over water,
over lawns, skims our roof by inches.

His hoarse croak hangs in the dusk, lingers
on into night, as your voice goes on

sweet-talking me in my sleep, laughing
at some secret folded in your wings.

Copyright © 2003 Ann Silsbee All rights reserved
from The Book of Ga
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Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission