Faded-blue wader in riverbed
muck, long-legged messenger

from other worlds and emblem
of calm in churning waters

and wind, slow-motion soarer
above storm gusts, sharp seer

through dusk and the plunge
of a cold spring—I look

for your shape over the highway,
floating in front of my car

on backroads and in the river
fishing late with your sisters,

never standing yet still
where salt and fresh water mix.

I’ve sought your slow wisdom
in marshes that swelter in late summer

sun and in shallows that show
only sky back. I want to know

the labor of your flight, to watch
the sumac shrink and the tops

of tamarack widen, to stare
into leaves and turbid pools

and feel where bill and claw and feather
grow as clear as water.