River Watching

A string of scows lift on a late flux. Sunset spreads 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 shadowy natives still doggedly paddling into the grassy skirts of Kentucky A late breeze sighs, rattles tall reeds. Evening slips under her clothes a slow disrobing. For a long moment, the river shines while the moon climbs over darkening trees. I get up from my camp-chair stretching. Ten years I recall, ten years of emptying out. I look at my open hands, feeling easy and as fresh as a rain-washed creek.