Cypress Grove

How long have we lingered this time,

here among the cypress, river flowing through me,

hawks wheeling. The lazy dragonflies

aren’t lighting on my skin, and the sun

has forgotten your name. I feel the current pulling me into your dream,

shale pounded smooth in the whitewater upstream, oak leaves fluttering from trees,

River birch standing silver sentinel

while a turtle naps on a fallen sapling jutting out

across the fall line, catching flotsam and jetsam,

broken beer bottles lie in shards among the pebbles.

Swimming is safer than walking, and when you fly away back to the sky,

I’ll plunge back below the surface, let the current carry me down,

come up for air, and swim for shore

before I reach the locks.