Parrish
The river is up
on the levee
where it has lain
for several months
softening the shoulders
of resistance
with insistent cover.
Full straining to hold
the stream in the line
that self interest declares,
the sloping earth forbids
to the river the beckoning basin,
which wants the rhythm of the water
that seeks to stop its swifting course
and gain rest along the bayous
and retreats of the swamp’s
patient flanks.
In the yard they’re moving pipe
and it chimes the creeping hours
to bell the cat-eyed dark
filling the hollow nights
expanding cathedral arch
with tones of enterprise,
Loaded upon the busy shadow
of daybreak and the thump
of engine strain,
wakes churn the heavy
burdened water, boats
leaving for the site.
The bearded softness of fog dipped
screens imparts upon the lens
morning mist’s remission
of the night's harrowing of sins
the image of the silver moss
in haloed half light, held
against the breast
that swells against
timely demands,
and breaks upon the nudge
that sends a flood
upon the land.
Fabulous!!
i sat alone
in a darkened garden
green at the mercy
of a dusky gray
day dissolving
cat bit bleeding
abandoned and absent
purple martins