Fire On the River
The boat rocks gently under a reddening sun,
is it wrong to wish for a Viking burial,
to ponder a last journey West
into the dying light?
I could rest my soul here in this skiff
on this one long warm wave of evening;
let the wooded lands and sloping meadows,
the coal-stacked barges, the brimming ports,
all the patched up river towns slip on by
under the flaring sails of evening clouds.
To watch as night slips into the river,
to be a dark swimmer,
then to ponder a burning boat
surfacing from the depth
of my enkindled imagination.
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