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Up River On the Columbia
I've followed her for years.
been lost in her wistful rain.
slept on her shore
but a ship captain knows
she can deliver pain,
be rough, a blind beauty,
and a beastly trap when a violent wind
spits up a body from her cold currents.
for centuries the natives sought her fish.
gathered with the gulls.
rode her inconstant waves.
today birds circle.
the heat beats down.
I peel an orange.
this is desert country,
where you yield to the bright gleam
of the sun.
where voices and a bare wind
make a solemn cry
as bright as your blood
and wild dreams are not beyond reach.
I stretch.
hear my own clear hoofs, my inner beat.
I am my own tutor.
life is dear but I live in the shadows.
I see two Native Americans
fuss by an old truck.
one calls out "fresh caught salmon."
I rest. evening falls.
a train swaggers the shoreline.
its iron wheels make metallic verse
that breaks the soothing quiet,
chews away the splendor.
it's the first of many goodnight runs.
on a slope homes flicker like little pearls,
dainty little dwellings.
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,
screeching streets, glut of busy shops,
murder stories, shabby hotels, rattling derricks,
the overload of life and the splinting pain of love.
the river's summons with substance,
beloved fresh air and unaccountable sweetness.
I lie on the grass.
a crow and I stare.
he grabs his grub and flies off.
Mother Earth, her garden, her strong breath
and angelic heart surround me.
she's my companion.
I am thirsty. I raise my arms,
seek a grand tour of the mysterious sky.
then like a fish I graze the waves
and fall into the faint glows.
it's a rainbow night for me.
I go as deep as I want.
I plunge into my own silver beauty.
soon a sky full of exotic stars will appear.
this, the perfect place
to escape
the pickle jar of city life.
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