The River is now a great bridge The one constant that stretches morning Across the entire day Folding it neatly Gently Back into night...
In between, freshly poured green water Water of life, Calling water Water that hides things And rarely reveals them.
Even the rocks revel in their newfound tones Shouldering their neighbors with the latest Deepest Hue of translucent stained Distant blue.
Born of morning, All the shadowed boxes, Eddys, Dark watching spots, curiously, Slowly, Lengthen day's best work, In their icy stillness.
Dinner is jars of old elderberries, And struggling greens, lost Between the miseries of heat And bugs and thirst, While seeing the path ahead, Pitted, dense, Still tough.. To where winter will set their stride.
Cravings of sweets in the soft, cloying dampness. Chilled, but cleansing. All this: From vistas of feet on velvet landscapes, To the endless jostlings Across this great bridge.
Sam A. Flanagan