Ice clings to the bottom of the paddlewheel.
It is a balmy 32 degrees 2 days after the first arctic blast of winter.
A light show falls on the wharf at almost 8:30 pm,
the quiet interrupted by tug boat traffic northbound
out of the turn
Category Archives: 2022
no. 71
Old Son! That hooked lunar
it never shows up in modern TV fairy tales
just a giant orb, floods and tidal shifts
the salmon, boyo, the salmon
swimming in oppositional currents
and here in the shade
where our renewal springs from
we trade spit and slurs with ancient monsters
crying at the sight of an empty-bellied moon
Post-Solstice
Tonight the river is clear and still / a smudged mirror / There is a pause suspended in the air / the approaching winter