Summer 2010 • Vol. XXXII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2010 |

Watershed

The stream's an adept   at taking in,     at leaving out. When the rapids called to us,   did they have us     in mind? Here the stream's the spine of a book, here   an oxbow where a fallen     tree backs up the current so recently accustomed to   clarity in gravel shallows     ---light can perch there--- and the gases of decay   held all winter     in alluvium crumple the surface like   inoculation scars. Look     how dragonflies lay their eggs in flight, abdomens   like wands touching water.     We were just passing by, but now   the day's turning out     to be a songbird in a mist net. News of another   life. Why are we given to     saying such things? Do we imagine we   complete the scene with     our leaps and ellipses?

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The stream's an adept   at taking in,     at leaving out. When the rapids called to us,   did they have us     in mind? Here the stream's the spine of a book, […]

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