You were here before the houses were built.
Before the boats roared along the water,
before fishermen cast their lines out,
you swam along this river and called it home.
I envy your organization, your dedication,
your beauty and collected calm.
And I am sorry that we take so much from you,
so much for granted.
This monochromatic scene stares at me
for weeks on end in the deep winter.
And although I find it beautiful and serene,
what I wouldn’t do to see a ruby red poppy
jutting out defiantly from the snows.
Your soft, flowing, frigid blankets
float softly on the river.
Frightened at how dangerously hypnotic
the spell can be, I step silently
away from the river’s edge.
not for skiing
or for shoveling,
not for driving
or for boarding,
but for dreaming
and for steaming
river waters–
for crunching
beneath boots
and napping deeply
on sycamore roots–
for kissing long lashes
and drifting softly
as crystal ashes
The marsh in late fall exudes a musky scent
that rides the cold breeze and clings to my coat.
Amber brambles crunch beneath my boots while
the sunset sifts through leaves and branches.
Breathing deeply, I let the soft rays warm my soul.
A thousand days can come and go
and I will never take you for granted.
How many pink sunsets do we carry within us?
Lost memories, trinkets of conversations stored within
cotton candy clouds in my mind. Little shards of flat
Ohio landscapes, slices of Canadian summers, thoughts
filed away and kept safe; imprinted on the past
like a sticky carnival hand stamp.
Pour me a drink, offer me a smoke,
read me a book, take a gentle nap
and let’s watch the rain dance on the water.
from me to you
and you to him
from cold to warm
from sink to swim
from sad to mad
and sea to land
from life to life
and back again
Rays of late afternoon sun rained down into the water.
I thought I heard angels calling, but realized it was the
geese in the distance.
spanishwoods 