Rocky River, High Water
Rocky River, High Water
When I awake the first thing I hear is the river
roaring over the rocks above the bend.
The rocky river
never silenced at the highest water,
washing down for garden beds wood eroded from the Veazie Mill
washing up bricks and riverrock stepping stones
aerating, cleansing itself
flushing chemicals to the sea blue black white
creator provider destroyer, its pure
conversation rhythms indistinguishable from noise.
Spring cormorant river dark gray birds
flying and fishing their way upstream in threes and fours
day after day.
Summer song sparrow trilling
so loud
as to almost drown the river out
osprey fish dive
eagles in their spy tree
all these silences of the roaring river.
Two rivers: artery pulsing out furs and timber
vein sucking blood inward toward the heart
alcohol guns smallpox
Atmosphere ghost-humid:
moose, deer, porcupines, Pαnawάhpskewi, mill girls, port girls
river-lured
momentary flicker at the top of the stairs.
Always something wrong but
what can straighten out water?
Embraced by fish nets,
street grids, spider webs,
thoughts, plans, prayers
caught measured by mathematicians
dams pure resistance now gone
salmon follow cormorant conduit
bucking the current of easy living.
Walking up Pump House Road from the old dam site
sandpiper
proceeding ahead of me through the woods
where rain has made rivulets in the dirt road.
Hey there, what are you doing back here in the woods?
At every step it bobs its butt
slowly twerking to unheard music
and now roadside grass rustling.
What's that?
Another bird, fluffy twerking too its chick.
Pecking and bobbing uphill downstream
flowing in parallel channel
shoreline haunts submerged.
At night the last thing I hear is the river's hissing monotone music
flooding the swimming holes, washing seaward
all but the ghosts
sweeping off ego superego and id language culture nature itself
not by water but by water's voice its spirit.
“Do you hear it” said Xuansha, “the sound of the roaring river?
Enter there.”
Into what?
