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sunrise filtered through the mist / along the alsea river, / the morning becoming light, / the darkness becoming day / by gradual variations, / autumn preparing for death, / death preparing for the night
where neskowin and hawk creeks / join just before emptying / into the pacific, we / stand, my love and i, to eye / the rising sun, the morning / mist, the light reflected on / the wet sand, the rising tide
rain falling on the river, / the same river but never / the same, the sunrise stretching / like a bridge beneath the clouds, / the same sunrise but never / the same, the rain not raining / very hard, the sun rising
sagebrush, rabbitbrush, broken / glass at my feet, i climb up / to the hills west gazebo, / yakima river bending / into the columbia / below, both flowing gladly / into the pale sunrise light
the sunrise a gash / in the malaise of / this socked-in monday morning / carpet woven of the sun / from the frayed ends of / the end of summer
this river was my / consolation when / i suffered the desert of / those days of youthful yearning / and nothing has changed / now that i am old
electricity / pulses through the trees / the sunrise blazing behind // the hotel drapes of the gods / the sidewalks empty / the runways ready
song
sonnet
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