Windward Review


Volume 18, 2021

Jeffrey Alfier

Navesink River Sunday

Daybreak, and the thick scent of the soundless river.

In slow heavy air, men cast lines and glare outward,

holding to the silence between them.

Crows drift through elms fading to autumn.

From the rail bridge, a train warns

an unseen crossroad. But nothing here alters.

At home, my aged father, who’d be at ease

among these fishermen, struggles with sleep

after I lifted him from a midnight fall —

his frame as light as a ghost ship.

And me, this open water, the footpath

at my back inclining toward town,

light bending through morning windows

that traps someone’s eyes in the sudden radiance.

Civility + You


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