no. 56

On a quiet Sunday morning
yes Georgi the world still moves
the white caps bounding upriver
like misplaced salmon
souls swimming northbound
in search of home
and the perfect stovepipe hat

no. 57

We tell ourselves sweet stories
don’t we? Fall and fall and fall
the picture cast in imperfect tense
as the sports radio jockeys rail
imagining more perfect seasons
while the impatient wind waits for a sail

no. 58

My walking stick led me to the river
then broke itself unable to go further:
it’s all in the currents now
the wind the water the train and tug

no. 59

a pack of whitecaps and a tug
you feel the boat underfoot a’dancin’