I don’t see the weekend tourists,
the sticky fingered children,
the sun soaked fishermen casting off the docks.
Instead, I think about Magellan and wonder
what inspired him to keep navigating
in that giant, infinite circle.
Sometimes I lay in the loft and hear the water hit the docks.
The boats sway and their bumpers whine.
Ducks call out with protesting quacks and geese
continue their conversation in mid-flight.
I’ll miss you when we leave, dear river;
but will keep your sounds buried deep in my peaceful heart.