The Chuck-Will's-Widow
casts his whistled phrase
over the marsh
like a boy casting for mullet,
and after reeling it in
slowly
for effect
he casts again
and again.
From the creek's
headwaters, far in the distance
his answer travels to him.
Late into night we hear him
casting and reeling in
casting and reeling in
until the song
and its answer merge
like love
that finally finds acceptance
and our sleep
accepts this conclusion.