503 Readings | 1 Rating

Near Rivers

always–large, small, wet or dry,
tear filled, womb barren
irrigation ditches in Phoenix,
LA’s concrete sluice, empty
save for graffitti, snaked in drought,
baked in fast living while
the wide Colorado, icy cold,
Moab-red, stained my cheeks,
bled between my toes; pine studded
Blue Lake had no lake, but the gush
of its Mad River into the Pacific
carried steelheads and anguish–
and finally, finally Asheville
cradled in the mountains,
glitter on brown  French Broad
embracing,
soaking
my world like a big wet dog

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Posted 11/06/09
new and raw
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