oh little night,
i would sing,
if i had a voice loud enough,
of your beauty,
little crooked sister river,
and wash my things
in you by moonlight.

in the moonlight
the catfish feeds
in your deep pools.
the fallen elm disturbs
your black water passing.

the fisher and the heron
sleep and survey perfectly
knowing what they can
take from you.

oh little night,
the winds and the waters
have risen and your mood
is as uneven as your steep banks.
and your loveliness
divides the sweet
promise in the air
of the wild grape
from the distinct
roving storms.

oh little night
if i had arms wide enough
i would hold you until
calmness claimed you
smoothing freely
your deep flowing skin
and the only sound left would be
soft murmurs as you pushed past
rock and sunken limb.
and as the rush through the
tree tops settled,
you would wear them again,
as a beautiful sister's ringlets.