You and I, the Cranes, the River
       

The cranes were silhouettes that night, thousands
lowering in long strings to land in the river.
We stood at peepholes in a shed on the bank,
silent, watching. And I began to wish
someone could see us, witness us,
you and I,
durable in our heavy coats and scarves,
looking out into the dark.
We were not jaded then.
Nothing remarkable happened for an hour,
no talking; we didn't want to spook the cranes
standing on their sandbars, trilling their
all-night song. Then you pointed
toward a peephole in the western wall,
turned my shoulders, mouthed a word,
one word. Vapor rose from your mouth. Moon, you said.
And we looked at it together, a thin white curved tusk,
a filament, a lost string, a moon on its back.
At a small window we looked at the moon together.

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Copyright © 2011 Marjorie Saiser All rights reserved
from Beside You At The Stoplight
The Backwaters Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission