Standing on the bank,
Looking at the other shore --
A hundred meters or a mile?
Does it matter,
In such a fast flow?
If I were to swim for it,
Launching myself into
Those cold, choppy waves,
Which would I reach first:
The other shore, or
The Falls, downstream?
the cormorant,
glistening & dripping,
must air dry
before it’s a bird again;
humans cramp in the pool.
i follow the light
out of the woods and into
a yellow glade.
old wasp nest:
looks like the whole hive
hulked its way out.
on a narrow ridge,
covered with fine dust,
my foot slips. I’m awake!
early summer:
birds trudge through green paddies
that they usually prowl.
