Out of town, four miles past– two mallards
sing a rippled trance. Greenhead Drake
scoots among cattailed reeds, vibrant
glossy– water rushing over beak. Clean
and reaching to prune and preen
a quiet hen. Her silken curves
somber silent in watered dance.
She watches, waits, glides over waters swell–
dipping, signaling, water washing over bill.
Eyes on form, heads dip under
two ripple crossed lovers.
The ripples meet, enmeshed
entangled, like fingers in bed
of wrinkled sheets. She floats,
and drifts astride– the eyes
of two mates meet. Unfettered
by my prideful feathers, I pause
and wait in shallows– for the
Quack to follow.
Out of town, and four miles past,
my mind wafts to another dance–
I watch, relieved, no hunters grapeshot
to bloody love’s reprieve. I settle back
against the reeds, and enjoy this moment,
when love asks to follow.