I am reteaching myself to read the clouds. The August air is thick and sticky, turns my lungs into tired chewing gum. Standing on the wharf packing my pipe, I listen to the whispers of the old men in my memories. They remind me: the weight of the clouds, how they crawl across the sky. Fast or slow or in-between. I am reteaching myself to read the clouds. Geography matters. River valleys are different than coastal towns from big sky country. I can close my eyes and see the southern Arizona desert, the layers of suspended dust, the haze of heat bouncing off cement, the urban lights. Storms that come up from the south follow the river like a man in search of a lost limb. August is a haze that’s moved in a week early.
that cool breeze
a tease portendimg
the lightening
Category Archives: waterfront
“in our talons*”
The blue heron dances with her reflection on the long brown water, south to north under a dull, refracted light cast from a sky full of rain heavy clouds. As I walk onto the wharf, a common grackle glides to a halt, nods– spreads wings to the wet breeze.
The last song playing on the radio is still singing in my head. A dark hymnal that hums of the Ohio River Valley Gothic, and I see a mirror of me in long brown water.
(* inspired in part by a song by Bowerbirds)
Untitled Series 1 (2024), 12 thru 15
12.
take in the sun you salamander you. the grass will not grow itself. we ride the river south at dawn when the high water currents are sleepiest. keep yer boots dry for the rainy season. dry rot seeps into the wood ‘tween the ears.
13.
follow the river up route 42. take the Rabbit Hash road. Avoid the air traps. Watch the flight configurations of birds of prey.
14.
the machinations
will not
let up
their
constant
thwartings
15.
the sun reflects off high water
the upper hand of the floating world