The Chuck-Will's-Widow

casts his whistled phrase

over the marsh

like a boy casting for mullet,

and after reeling it in

slowly

for effect

he casts again

and again.

From the creek's

headwaters, far in the distance

his answer travels to him.

Late into night we hear him

casting and reeling in

casting and reeling in

until the song

and its answer merge

like love

that finally finds acceptance

and our sleep

accepts this conclusion.

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