The River

The long days keep me outside as long as possible.

I went down to the big river last evening. I was feeling poetic and wistful, probably. Also, I wanted to be near water.

What This Will Tell You, If You Let It

The sky:
blue,
then blank,
then yellow,
then purple.
Then,
river.

A Canada goose, alone
in the middle of this span of water,
will call out until hoarse,
until her mate returns.

Plaintive mourning doves
sound like morning and evening,
(the same)
even 600 miles away.

My name in the sand
is unfinished without yours.

We are all just daughters
of the boys who joined the branch
that took them to the water,
only to come back and raise
us on the growing, dying
prairie.

My fear of heights softens
with banks of duned sand,
the calm at the edges,
the fisherman down at the dock.