Tonight the river marched up out of its banks and went wandering afar,
full bodied smell and the throat of frogs;damply stepping all the
things its other fogs had never known,freeways
and the strange nearly chrysanthemums of street lamps.
old mist of whispers sipping at the air.


is so much closer at night.companion for the awake and traveling eyes of the alone.
a chill seems to bring the air to that larger damp darkness
a dampness brings the chill to the nose…


I touch myself in my various bodiesto ferret the fear wherever it hides, ashiver.
 i feel the falling in shoulders and knees i grip my asking with a twiceness.
this i dofor my blindness is darkness,and the night is but the night.
my mistake.
even the fog shall become clear as glass when the sun comes


Tonight the river finds its bed is concrete,and its breath of birds more feeble.

O,   but the time-brothered patience of things…

As I passa white flicker under bridges,as i think this,
as you read this,
  the river runs gentle hands over its hard grey jacket
and murmurs it
to sand