Water, Flight – by CJ Giroux

Still as the surface of a reservoir at dusk, you are already gone,
moving towards the Marianas trench, uncharted water;
I dream of flight, ripples coming closer.

Loss seeps in—wounds, wales, stigmata—and encores
end in a stream of whispering static, like kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss.
Still as the surface of a reservoir at dusk, you are already gone,

but maybe like shadows falling off margins, water trickling over a county dam,
you will never really leave. A chorus begins, more I can’t understand,
so I dream of flight, ripples coming closer.

Waiting for Cygnus to reappear, I hope sleep comes in gentle waves,
but loss is felt across the middle, a river I can’t cross. I seek
stillness, the surface of a reservoir at dusk—but you are already gone,

so too your memory of me, like a trail of confetti disappearing in slanted sun,
amber light. Listening to Vivaldi played on repeat (accompaniment, echo, fade),
I dream of flight, ripples coming closer

in this borderless country of pine, sand, silence, ash.
Praying predicted snow, rain will be enough, I stand and wait, stand and wait,
still as the surface of a reservoir at dusk. You are already gone,
and I dream of flight, ripples coming closer.

CJ Giroux is a Michigan poet who teaches in the English Department at Saginaw Valley
State University. He is a reader for Dunes Review, and his most recent chapbook is
Sheltered in Place (Finishing Line Press). He is honored to have his work appear in
Rockvale Review once again.