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Up River On the Columbia
I've followed her for years,
her passages through gorge walls,
her sinuous desert and mountain spins.
her swelling winter heels, high bluffs,
and delicate swings
make heart-shaped scenery to me.
I've fished her shores.
seen her in violent rage,
slap her beseeching nests.
but a ship captain knows she can be
a trail of tears, hellish, sorrowful
when she spits a body up from her cold currents.
for centuries the natives fed off of her.
played upon her banks.
told magical stories about her wealth.
then gathered with the gulls,
and rode her inconstant waves.
today birds circle.
the heat beats down.
I'm here, alone, unsheltered.
I peel an orange.
sit and wander into a dream.
I'm in a secluded death, silence,
the city lights gone.
all around dry brown slopes cut the horizon.
this is desert country.
the sun seizes me,
beats down, bites my skin
and
dries the throat.
nearby two Native Americans
fuss by an old truck.
one calls out "fresh caught salmon."
evening falls.
a train's iron wheels crack the quiet.
noses the water's edge with headlights and horns.
it's the first of many goodnight runs.
on a distant slope the dancing lights of homes
flicker like little pearls,
like a chant of golden jewels, picture perfect.
seemingly strange in this barren land.
I hear ducks wrangle,
chatter in their own language.
a curious splash catches me,
then goes under.
here I am far from the penalties of city life,
the street side cries, horns, bells, hotels,
lavish shops, shuttle busses,
hustlers and bastions of derricks.
I lie on fresh grass.
feel the cool air.
stare at the measureless space above.
my vigor rises.
I merge into the rocks and hills.
lick my lips. a crow and I stare.
he grabs his grub. flies off.
Mother Earth, her head, arms, and legs
satisfy and crowns all.
she embraces, soothes, sings
a song and is a poet herself.
she'll catch fish. drape them.
insist they go deep.
I'm bathing in her transparent gleams.
we sing together.
I go deep as if a new life
just started in me.
like the fish,
I can go as deep as I want
and cradle all that is me.
soon a exotic stars will cover the sky.
this, the perfect place
to escape
the pickle jar of city life.
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