these steel ribs hold a century on
after wroughting hands are dust
my lungs wet with condensation and rust
encased in a baptism of sweat and silence
God is in the bildgewater
Category Archives: river life
the world washes over me, often”
the world washes over me, often
waves of conversations
I must remind myself
there is purpose in holding on
cars and tugs and trains sweep by
dreams on their way to other imaginations
the river pushes past, all apparitions
following the currents south
to the delta at Cairo
where I am told
where I must remember
dreams went to die
and those who hung on
with them
Days 2025: Spring Equinox
we must trust in the knowing of daffodils
and in the songs of returning birds perched
in trees along the wharf, singing regardless
of the grumblings of tired old men, regardless
of urban noise and the rumbling interstate traffic
we must trust in the slightest hint of non-arctic air
underneath the chill, the half-scent of spring in the rain
the need to remind ourselves
the sump pit needs draining and the dogs
tracking in mud from the back fence
where they go to bark at the neighbor’s adult son
hiding and playing with axes, imagining
that the end of the world
will be his time to shine like an equinox sun.
