I hear the whippoorwill
at the bank of the river.
Your body floats along
covered in arrows.

The fletchings blend with the cattails
as the sun goes down.
I’m sitting here on your horse
like a throne, watching this day end.

I remember your voice
from long ago. You said, The body
is the greatest country to serve.
Its cause beats in your chest.

I’m building a fire
with old blankets and pillows
to muffle the other sounds.
I’m thinking more

about containment now,
just like you said. I bend an ear
to the ground. Nothing.
Even the birds are quiet now.

Live closer to the ground, you said.
I put a root down in the warm spot.
The growing time has ended,
but maybe something.

Maybe a burning will—
Maybe the ashes of—
This river hardly flows
and you’re submerged now.

Feathers break the calm surface—
little oars making slight ripples.
This is where we will live.

– AR Dugan