Sunday, February 4, 2018

At Shevlin Park


the Deschutes River
makes a turn across his own Burren
one he’s been carving out for centuries
slowly, with ice cracking tiny chunks of rock
slowly, chiseling with water flow
little pockets echoing duck quacks,
animal tracks, then water plants
and me, like a leaf here and gone
downriver
 to the vast Colombia
downriver

to the wide-open sea

No comments:

Post a Comment

willamette writers

willamette writers

Blog Nation Badge

Poets United