herons stalk the edge of
civilization; the river
sings a marbled song
of fire and forgotten glory while
the sun casts about the rapids; geese
fish from the shallows, men
from the bridge. stones bake;
clouds come and go
like the old women searching
the banks for change and lost
youth while a train slows
with its mourner’s whistle and i
lean in on the verge of
wildness, watching.
the tenth muse 
very cool
very evokative
conjures thoughts of decay and the way nature reinhabits the faded edges of so-called civilization
thanks, ray, for stopping by as always; you got what i was aiming for, dead-on.
–jsl
I like you style of writing. How the words appear disjoint yet flow. Reminds of Bob Dylan…
It’s been a long while since I responded emotionally and intellectually to poetry/a poet. Thank you for this.
laura,
thanks for stopping by. this comment means a lot coming from a writer such as yourself. i found your own site quite impressive, and i’ve added you to my list of blogs here on wordpress to keep an eye on. 🙂
cheers
jsl