apoetreflects: Nightjar That first time we made love, nighthawks dove from out of sight among the stars and just before they struck the earth swerved up—the woof in their wingfeathers like Ben Webster’s fluttering way down on the sax. Nightjar is their family name, because their calling jars the night; the whip-poor-will and chuck-will’s-widow make me think of you, that whistle far off in your lisp, calling from nowhere. And the poor-will (which I’ve never seen nor heard) repeats his double-note out West near you. My field guide say’s he’s boring.  When you hear his repetitious cry and whistle your note back, I want to say, I’ll be there with you, but I won’t. —Brooks Haxton, from Nakedness, Death, and the Number Zero (Alfred A. Knopf, 2003)

apoetreflects:

Nightjar

That first time we made love, nighthawks
dove from out of sight among the stars
and just before they struck the earth
swerved up—the woof in their wingfeathers
like Ben Webster’s fluttering way down on the sax.

Nightjar is their family name,
because their calling jars the night;
the whip-poor-will and chuck-will’s-widow
make me think of you, that whistle far off
in your lisp, calling from nowhere.

And the poor-will (which I’ve never seen nor heard)
repeats his double-note out West near you.
My field guide say’s he’s boring.  When you hear
his repetitious cry and whistle your note back,
I want to say, I’ll be there with you, but I won’t.

—Brooks Haxton, from Nakedness, Death, and the Number Zero (Alfred A. Knopf, 2003)