River writing I

the beach sits a few feet above the
waterline, a few hundred years older,
where the river used to scrape
granite boulders into sand

pale as paper and fine,
softened by time and sifted
among roots of yellow pines
above the line of flowing green water

translucent husks from this
season's stoneflies still flutter,
empty-eyed, where the water
runs clear and clean, scouring
soft beaches for the future

between scarred and tree-lined
steeps the river moves still,
moves as it has always moved
its current running in perpetual
motion down slope, written
into rapids and pools and eddies
by the land that contains it

each year inscribed a little deeper
a little narrower, refining the resisting
curves, carving bed and bank,
etching the story of a lifetime


Click on photo to view larger — it's worth it.