Wednesday, January 15, 2014

On the Deschutes


I cross the river
four times each day. On foot.
The dam, north of the bridge,
sprung a leak last fall. In winter
river waters run low. Now
its middle bare. A strip of murky mud.
On its edges, ice forms.
In its depths, ducks dive.
One emerges, shakes its head -
victorious. The only fish
my eyes have seen
on this stretch of water.




 

No comments:

Post a Comment