Night Crossing
dragonflies by the hundreds
outlined my oars I breathed
easily my aura unsheathed
spirit on the river clouds
scudded the moon but then
into this scene a dead woman
on her back grew closer
her undulating hair
the dragonflies vanished I stilled my oars
all was dark but a scatter of stars
the dead one begged would I lift her aboard
bury her in childhood or
beyond the river where
she might find herself before
she left me…. my blade charred to amber
wherever it touched her
I could not inter her nor
not forgive her
& as I rowed the dragonflies returned
river memory stilled her
I rowed like an angel with flaming wings
my boat crossed over into pure singing
William Heyen is a Professor of English and Poet in
Residence Emeritus at SUNY Brockport, his undergraduate
alma mater. A former Senior Fulbright Lecturer in American
Literature in Germany, he has won prizes and fellowships
from the NEA, the Guggenheim Foundation, Poetry, and the
American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters. His
work has appeared in hundreds of magazines and anthologies.