Stilled Life, Napa River
Dried thistle erupt skyward
from the earth’s scalp,
tangled in what is still rooted.
from the earth’s scalp,
tangled in what is still rooted.
Behind, is the river of the mind,
still salt tainted. Boats of all sorts
moored but at midday nothing afloat.
still salt tainted. Boats of all sorts
moored but at midday nothing afloat.
Birds of all sorts pick through
the remnants, graphing lines
above the dull-eyed river.
the remnants, graphing lines
above the dull-eyed river.
And under the river is the history
of the river: a current that pushes
forward, away from the known.
of the river: a current that pushes
forward, away from the known.
Some days, I think I’ve discovered
it’s source. The quiet whisper
beneath ground that worries up.
it’s source. The quiet whisper
beneath ground that worries up.
But most I am just a little weight
marking a path slowly, the cursive
of bare earth as it is revealed over time.
marking a path slowly, the cursive
of bare earth as it is revealed over time.
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