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.