by Michael Plante

Moon river bay sleeps like an old man
when the dead paddle by under the full moon.
The spirits of our dead call out like a loon in the darkness
“Remember us….remember….”
Drifting ice melts away
a new shoreline is reveled.
Our ancestors step ashore
and into the shadow of the pines they disappear.

Mother moon watches in silence.
Her radiance reassures us, this is not a dream.
The old man awakens
and points to the moon.
“Remember them…remember…”

The loon bears witness in silence.
Her words are spoken for.
She never cries in the night for those that pass by.
She’s a speckle of light floating upon the river.
And before the break of day
as the shadows fall, and mother moon turns her back
the old man drifts asleep
waiting for the call of the loon.