The Mouth of the River
December 14th, 2005
By Archived Story
The mouth of the river
is what I want to show you.
How it bullies into the sea.
The push and pull,
the curl of the currents,
the fold of light and water and mud.
The river pertains to all things.
It carries the story of the man I once loved,
who had lanky arms and a fumbled step
and faith in a God I did not believe in.
Over time the river digs and curves.
It shifts great shoulders and pulls back from the sea,
empties its mouth of clams and pockets
and translucent sand crabs
that scurry and click with their delicate legs.
Creatures scatter after the waters sear,
and I worry that I will grow tired
because I want to hold things and name them.
My body will labor until I let go, the fullness leaving me.
