the river winks

the river winks at me, I'm pretty sure no one else sees it.
water stirs me. it eddies and churns the gravel of my soul.
if it weren't for dusk, and its grand decrescendo -
wind that is like grace blowing cool to my nostrils -
and the promise of music that is freed from my diaphragm.
then i might not try to be a brother and a friend, or at least not as hard.
i might fail more miserably at being a lover.
and maybe even stop. cease my wondering. cease my hoping.
but then the river winks. the ripples lick my ankles.
like a little dog who reminds me that life was meant to romp through.
like waist high fields and shining puddles.
someone finds the flat stones and skips them over pools between rapids.
everyday tucked perfectly behind the horizon, fading as they leave.
the freshness of grace filling my lungs, and i must return the favor.
so I look for seeds and kisses to blow.
I feel a promise, sometimes in myself, often in others.
I wait for it, anticipating the words and its melody.
I continue wondering and hoping. I watch for winks from the river.

holy water

oh my holy daughter

did you drink the holy water

from the bowl at san pablo's catedral

holy priest why do you bother

to let us always call you father

when Jesus bore the crosses that you wear

look up, look up, sing praise

call stones from their graves

sit up, sit up, get faith

stained windows illustrate

step up, step up, say grace

practice your solemn face

curious on tip toes

you reached up and then dipped your

fingers in the water bowl of stone

then your mother motioned

you cross your chest shoulders forehead

you kneel before you're buried in a pew

look up, look up, sing praise

call stones from their graves

sit up, sit up, get faith

stained windows illustrate

step up, step up, say grace

practice your solemn face

silly old grandfather

did you curse and then not bother

to repent before the crackers and the wine

Sunday candles thrill me

but this house just might distill me

harp then organ and the chorus year around

last day

we fished with our ears.

we fought with rods.

we wrestled scales in currents.

flaming gorge

the river was green.

green with envy.

so it withheld its fish.

the rocks were red.

red in embarrassment.

laying fully exposed in the sunlight.

the trees were charred.

charred by the flames. on the banks of the gorge.

oliver goes west.

its the last crusade. four weeks till he's hitched.

we're gonna bleed it for a week. on rivers in canyons.

pal around like old times. days when we were little. chasing trout.

we aren't small anymore, or on the Yellow Breeches creek.

we're taking time off work for this. not school. it feels just as good though. rivers flow stronger and colder. mountains are bigger and more rocky. lakes saltier.

such is life.