Rivulets and Tributaries
       

The unnamed waterways of bygone youth:
that winding iced-over stream of secret winter sledding
dangerous and fast, cold and delicious,
the snaking rill behind the brook park where bullfrogs croaked,
even the small wooded creek, once mysterious and imposing,
now all fade to rusty memory, whole neighborhoods,
landmarks reduced to hearsay and rumination.
Immeasurable gallons traversed these anonymous circuits,
and now streams of consciousness flow back
throwing sounds and smells upon themselves.
The tiny animals, local rocks and flora, merge
with names and community waterholes:
Joe's luncheonette, Herb's candy store,
the bakery on a weekend morning,
where natures of other types were delved and explored.
Somewhere in the world scientists dig,
hoping to unearth artifacts, shed light on darkness,
analyze and synthesize to best explain the past.
I do the same, wandering this pine forest,
extracting torrents of memory from
rivers one generation nearly explored,
soon lost to the rolling delta of time.

Tweet

Copyright © 2016 Gary Glauber All rights reserved
from Memory Marries Desire
Finishing Line Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission