Scissortail River
Scissortail river running low beside the road
carrying a many weightless, little dead leaf
orange, yellow parade of patchwork vessels
passing beneath the old park bridge into shadow
I join a skipping-stone hunt along with you and June
working through silt in search for the perfect one
flat, smooth, of convex form, perfect
to soar from the surface in ricochet spin
We then each one built the tiniest of rafts
made of reeds gathered from the briar and knotted shoestrings
and away they raced, most coming upon rocks and breaking up
for only mine was somehow spared and drifted on
It too though disappeared under yonder oaken bridge
leading the cluttered cavalcade of litter and foliage
I wondered how far my raft might travel, maybe out to sea
as I trudged the mile home in laceless shoes
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