RIVER

My barque is small.

Still, the river gets under me

and buoys me up,

plowing the ground, unearths me.

Like silt, I slip away in the rush,

hang suspended in light. 

Why

am I always surprised

by the river’s sudden surrender

to sky?

How wide and still

as breath–

all around me, the distant shores

 their small trees.

I rise, push a long pole

to the bottom, release

ripple upon ripple

 — a blue harvest —

 

Why do I say

everything is in my mind? 

This lake,

the clouds at my feet,

the rims

of green.

This pole

pushing me through it.