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.
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