The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org
2004
River Song
(for Mary)
The river sings as it hurtles
on
and I think of you,
remembering
how I lingered in the shadow
that last morning years ago.
I think of you, remembering
the empty vase in my hand,
that last morning years ago,
as I watched you on the
riverbank,
empty vase in hand,
where I had been only moments
before.
As I watched you on the
riverbank,
you reached out your arm and,
where I had been only moments
before,
and just as I had done,
reached out your arm and
dropped your dying flowers
one by one.
Just as I had done.
The river took our withered
offerings,
our dying flowers dropping
one by one.
We went our ways.
The river took our withered
offerings
and still your presence
lingers
though we went our ways.
I hear you in the hurtle of
its song.