(An Excerpt from) The River Always

Always in my life there’s been a river.

Along such rivers, my father angled and dreamed,

Myriad cares snarled around him like fish line.

There, he became restored, renewed, resurrected,

As if by the brackish, unclean waters baptized.

(Spectral river images save a man’s spirit.)

At his side, safer than I’d ever be again,

Soul-to-Soul in dense foliage, diffused light,

I squished bare feet into embracing mud,

My breath in synch with the sawing song of crickets.

Turtle heads protruded like periscopes;

Elm-bark boats disappeared around river-elbows.

Mostly, I waded in warmth of Sun and Father,

Both solely mine at water’s slippery edge.

And, so it is, that I who cannot swim,

I who fear the darksome, deadly water deep

Am drawn to the river, always.