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.