Marriage
       

We're at a standstill—the river's stained-
glass panel of inverted trees.
Water striders distort the image.

Mosquitoes are slower after the frost,
following the carbon trails of breath.
They won't survive tonight's freeze.

Since the light's almost gone, we dig in.
Struggling oar against oar,
we eventually strike a rhythm, unsettling

the silence with the slap of strokes.
The canoe scrapes rock.
I stab the paddle into shallows

and shove off. Metal rasping stone
startles a blue heron downriver,
its long neck like a fluted vase.

Stick-legged and gawky, it lands at the bend.
We pull the paddles in and coast
to see how close we can get.

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Copyright © 2019 Wayne Johns All rights reserved
from Antipsalm
Unicorn Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission