The last time I saw her at the river
It flowed beneath us in an unseen stream
That passed me by with a wintry shiver
I saw no water moving but a dream
I thought yes I heard a nightingale cry
When the moon projected hours so golden
Set against the blackest pines and curtained sky
Its unseen wind came to ground so cold then
The rivery moon drew across my eye
In such a cold dark light encoded I
Hated to see the current carry her by
Longed for the high fern banks the river eroded
When we meet on that moonlight river
Tell me who’s the given, who’s the giver?
(Editor's note: This poem first appeared in the 2009 Poetry Issue published by Birmingham Weekly. You can read more poems here.