By the Bend in the River

Cove thick with tall reeds,
leaping frogs. Many Horses
and I scythe juicy blades

for beds, sun blinking
through the willows.
Dusk rolls in by boxcar

on a slow moving train.
The long, low whistle

like a hobo's lullaby

sounds the close of our day.

Our talk sparse, thoughtful,
trailing into the dark.