by this river right before

By this river right before
it trundles into the big city
the child in man stands behind me
above me
saying words only God's ghost understands
prayers and a voice to prayers
I haven't said.
Two water spiders ski upstream
One dove cools the heat with her weeping
One arching stone bridge rolls its underbelly
in four jade ripples
Like I could stand on that full circle,
sitting hip deep in the stone smelling flow
And it doesn't give away that it's afraid, or bitter
to know where it's going and to what it will be
reduced.
It doesn't betray curd and weed, dust and walls,
not feet, no hands ruffling it there.
Only threads from gravel and trash too close to the top.
Only threads from rare wind hovering
like a sweat bee to lap it dry.
Now it's here. Smelling itself, smelling hands
feet, spiders' legs and wild grasses' legs
smelling mud it mashed itself, smelling
the under belly of a stone bridge.

June 7, 2008