Blackbirds, golden, in the bleached branches of a drowned tree, and from another, a speckle-breasted sparrow peering down at me.
He cocks his head.
The crane on the riverbank shrugs her white shoulders up before the awkward push, like that of a child learning to dive. Then she is up and out and over the water. The S of her neck is reflected in its surface, which the tips of her wings graze before she is gone.
A woman lolls on the railroad bridge.
Her legs are tan against the gravel.
I follow her fishing line down to where it almost meets a black snake cutting the water. His eyes glint before he slips beneath the river, which slips away from me; which was there, then, and now, today, is gone.
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