WHAT I HEAR
This river water is
The warm breath of
Her whisper, what I hear —
The brown and white flurry
Of her thin clothing
The sweat of handwork
That musses the long
Blonde hair — dirt across
The forehead, may I wash
It off? thicken my hands
In that hair, kiss what I love
Away from our work and bathing
Part whisper and part water
WALKING FROM TOWN BETWEEN
MIDNIGHT AND 4 A.M.
I must have carried out
Every peeper in this valley
Home with me, 13 miles
Trees shiver in light rain
The moon following the
Fences following
A hillside of fog lies down
Generously in an apple orchard
Here is where a few sheep
Suddenly break into a run
A horse pounds the night
Meeting you at barbed wire
What is the sound between us
It is water that has brought me back
VISITORS
The river for weeks is low
Visitors arrive
Call it a creek
We know better
Say nothing
Next month in a downpour
Bridges wash out
Trees go down
Days of mud
No one visits
from Where Rivers Meet, Bob Arnold
photos © susan arnold, bob arnold
