Arts + Scene » Poetry




At their confluence, the waters roiled

and rebelled at having to shed their

former selves, so placid and alone.

The tumultuous tryst yielded only

to grassy banks that guided and

contained the thrashing, which

swept along all creatures scaly

and slimy, without mercy — a vengeance

exacted for the concession.

Whether from distance or habit,

the frenzy at last calmed, and

osprey could once again slice

through the chastened depths with ease.

"Is this a metaphor?" you asked,

from river's edge. "Ha!" I laughed,

jealous of the osprey.

Add a comment