Common Loons of Chequamegon Bay

there is
comfort
when the loons return
to this superior lake
eerie night yodel
echoes
mournful wails
across the apostles

waking the ghosts
of scattered
shipwrecks
marked by
mooring
buoys

july cold
dream wrapped
in flannel sheets
and quilts
we believe
they mate
for life
as they call
the names
of the lost

American Sentence #23

Sometimes it is not what you say but what you don’t that makes the difference.

Corvus

ask them what bird
they would be–
most will say
eagle
hawk
owl
condor
any bird of prey
something
majestic
magical
but
in the dead
of the night
I would choose
the crow
you will wake
to my call
shattering
the stillness
wondering
if the myths
are true