So long eyes can see, only the sinking dinghy,
gathers wave-life motion and turbulences,
the crescent moon needles the night, hungry breakers
devour the boat and the lonely fisherman.
The roll call is enlivened by the names-
shining fishes, the muskrats and dragonflies bring
childhood, images and longings,
and settle down to sleep at the end.
The river turns inward to hide the history,
burrow plants dig mud beneath the water column,
weft into red silt and brown clays,
barrel down day and night by the distributaries,
Fine grained sand buries old memories on the
riverbed, broken terracotta horses plug fissures,
seize battering days, mapping-
the engaged, the missing and the given depth contorts.
