Go to the other side.
Take the narrow bridge, the one
without the handrail.
Balance over the water's chorus
of voices and cross over
where the great oaks lean,
listening. Walk there
beside the wavering flicker
and you may hear, at last,
a separate voice, the call
of a child, or singing from the barn-
your brother's song of the fox hunt
in a run of hoofbeats and laughter,
as though light can be caught.
Keep following that light, even as
the water drains into cotton fields,
even though tonight the hounds
will whine in their dreams.