River Watching

A string of scows lift on a late flux. Sunset spreading itself along the crests of far hills. The Ohio plunges into cooling shadows, then a shimmering pause as the water opens its body. Ripples fall away from the light, shape-shift into Shawnee canoes. There are natives under the tipped-up boats still leisurely paddling into the grass skirts of Kentucky A late breeze sighs rattling tall reeds. Evening slips under her clothes. For a moment, the river shines for the moon while it climbs over darkening trees. I get up from my camp-chair stretching. Ten years, I remember. Ten years of emptying out. I look at my open hands, feeling easy, as a fresh rain-washed creek.