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
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
Winter
Just
before supper
I
watched a storm draw in
Taking
light
The
trees toss
No
matter
I
have finished carrying
Elm
from the edge of the woods
Bucked,
split then stacked
I
am done
Well
used
Come
snow
______________
Bob Arnold
Where Rivers Meet
Mad River Press
