Anima
       

On wet sand the tracks of deer, geese,
gulls, raccoons, all appeared alien, unreadable,
until: a single set of boots.

Who is to say the watersnake was not a god?

Flies adored the heads of stones half-submerged.

In the flying shadow of a dove, the catfish flexed
her whiskers, turned in her silty pool.

There were too many birds overhead to count.

Sun pressed down, a great skin over the whole river.

The smallmouth bass were voracious,
sending enormous ripples through flat shallows.

Gulls congregated on the shoals, shrieking and singing.

Something blue in the sand: lid from a jar of olives.

Something black in the air: first and last crow of evening.

There came a moment when the traffic
could not be heard, the houses could not be seen,
and I had to grasp, for awhile, at what I was.

The trees and the light crashing of their leaves—
outdone by the current's ceaseless song.

Tweet

Copyright © 2012 F. Daniel Rzicznek All rights reserved
from Vine River Hermitage
Cooper Dillon Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission