child river summer

claims you in that sweet breeze...

the maples, not uprooted a sacred inch, are

        carrying you home.

those crowded thoughts

are rendered                  nowhere

in the wholeness of

a warm cradle solstice.

all these collected efforts are similarly empty

to the shadow tangibles

of ducks on the sky,

rocketing downstream

as a creatively simple braid

of eloquence.

our life is laughter and forgetting

        into the pickling tears of wiz-dumb,

speechlessly recalcitrant.

tonight left me Nothing

as the broadest gift conceivable

in the rhapsody of moon    

on rust

on shivering

  bright

   water.