Jul 1, 2011
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As many bridges as I can walk
I have, suspended over
water’s bounded body,
a bent-limb river flowing
in imitation of life’s farewells.
Over opaline bowls and
chipped basins where nets
are cast so fathers and sons
can feed the hungry and
holy daughters work mysteries
of bounty: We are flesh and
gifted sustenance.
Along a roadbed I lose myself in
elemental apocalypse,
earth water air — and fire rushing
over the rumble spilling from
a reedy source to
a greater body demanding tribute.
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July 01, 2011
