Beside the River

Low as it may be,
there is power still
between the wide

and tarry banks
that slope always
toward movement,

I want to invite
each wet surge
all the way in,

to rip and cleanse
and ravage, and
beneath the white

torrent, a slow
change a new
shape, a silence.

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Night River

River swollen with
the June side of spring
runs bulge to bank

even as I sleep,
broken brambles swept
sideways into white

water wearing
brown borrowed earth,
liquid siege

like swift time
toward a downstream
dream as the night rain

comes down
from a lightning sky, drop
by drop by deluge

to the sea, past
the rocks now smooth
with the rush of it,

no more resistance
to the flood of it
as everything softens

like stone and like
golden sunrise on the gift
of another morning.

Like Water

Lace tentacles curl
from a winter rooftop,
and gone tomorrow,
are you willing
to let everything go?

Will you be buoyant,
helium snow beneath
our skis that fly? Will
you be love? Will you
sink? Oh, to submerge

in the abundance
of water, to be wet with
the extravagance of it,
to stand under
an open sky, palms

upturned, as illusion
rains into vast rivers,
flows past your borders
to the sea. Are you
fluid enough to know

what you are
capable of?  Particles
of an exhale
on cold glass,
your fingers trace

the foggy window,
write your initials, your letters
of love, a fading mark
against the sky, see
finally, yourself.