no, the wind does not come calling
and the suspicious absence of haunting train whistles
must be noted. still:
this river, great world’s wound,
is connected to everything.
where water goes
so goes that in me
that still flies

and that which remains finds
endless worlds stacked upon each
here at the edge
here at the land between the bridges
where the clouds, the currents, the grackle,
the heron, bring me all the news I need.