(An oldie–originally published 11 years ago in the [now defunct] New Works Review–dusted off, slightly revised, and presented here in response to this week’s inspiration: “Hourglass” at ONE SINGLE IMPRESSION)
The river sings of its rocks, mirrors
emerald and jade where summer
shadows attempt to outrun
sundown. I intrude, I presume;
I stand near the middle. The second cut
of hay is on the banks, neatly ordered
in rows this time of year, golden,
measuring the march-step toward August.
I think about changes: the movement
of sand through narrow places, how
a ripple diminishes downstream,
how a sound sounds when it stops.