By Wulf Losee

Somewhere under the bridge at twilight

a prowling trout lunges for a caddisfly

breaks the tension stillness of the surface

slides back to the shadows with a plop


(barely a ripple)


A bat drops from her I-beam perch

and begins her tumbled hunting flight

chases the darting echoes of a song

that is far beyond our hearing


(triplet rhythms of katydids)


We cross the bridge’s shadow line

paddles slip in and pull the water

concrete walls amplify our strokes

no traffic on the road above


(moss along the waterline)


You follow the bow-tip into light

leaning slightly left, peering through

the transparencies of dusk

as I sit behind the V-wave


(I chase the reflection of your face)

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