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