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Up River On the Columbia
she cuts inside a granite gorge.
rolls through mountain valleys, lush fields,
and high desert air.
her aged eyes have stories
that follow gods and 800 foot floods.
I've fished her shores.
stepped on her muddy reeds.
seen her blazing wild flowers.
she calm today.
sure, dreams awake by her shores
but a ship captain knows each year
she spits up bodies.
slumberous daredevils, wanderers,
and paddlers fall victim.
for centuries the natives settled her banks.
rode her inconstant waves.
today birds circle.
brown hillsides storm the horizon.
I peel an orange.
this is desert country, bleak, naked, dry,
full of wear.
the hot earth and the heat can beat you flat.
nearby two Native Americans
fuss by an old truck.
one calls out "fresh caught salmon."
come evening
a train's sharp bells and horns
crackle the air, kill the quiet.
it's the first of many goodnight runs.
nearby a distant slope twinkles in its
own lovely world with the lights of homes.
I hear ducks wrangle,
chatter in their own language.
a curious splash catches me,
then goes under.
clogged streets, overcrowded buildings,
foul sounds and smells,
the hopeless homeless,
tourists, stuffed elevators
and politicians are out of sight,
out of mind.
the slow, simple bucolic air,
pours out a sweet song.
I lie on fresh grass.
I'm beg for peace.
the river's lush edge is an emerald joy.
a crow and I stare.
he grabs his grub. flies off.
Mother Earth, charming,
straight forward, hurling her beauty,
takes away my worries.
she is my furnished room for the night.
my riotous soul, my deep nerves,
soiled heart float away.
I can go deep like the fish do.
discover my sweet shadows,
my curious fellowship,
and my waterhole of love
till I'm quenched.
soon exotic stars will cover the sky.
this, the perfect place
to escape
the pickle jar of city life.
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