Halcyon

Down to the Llano River that July,

by all dog-day cicada serenade,

elders telling stories, eating pie,

we stole away, unfollowed, unafraid.

A low pecan bough made our balcony,

I steadied you (your crutches cast aside),

you loved pecans, and trees, you said, and me,

and the lazy Llano River, deep and wide.

We bade the river drift on dappled beams,

braided grass and laughed all afternoon,

gave each other twigs, and bits of bark,

and little dreams

and love’s first kiss, beneath a children’s moon.

Standing in the river, hand in hand, you and me,

floating leaves on the water, gently beckoned by the sea.

F. Oden (5/21)