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.
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