This road is bordered
by willows and quaking
aspen shaking light
on shallow water.Stones rest like red
coins in the riverbed.
I cross this river again
and again, bridge afterbridge. It cuts and winds
through cottonwood
groves and pine forests.
Or is it this road that bendsand turns, twisting its way
along a straight-backed
river. This paved road.
Its narrow painted line.


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A poem that calms, enlivens, and then surprises. Also one that seems to speak to my current mood.
Posted by: Patry | 18 July 2005 at 10:05 PM
After an hour of fruitless searching for a real poem in the pages of an old issue of APR, I come here and find this. Wonderful. Thanks.
Posted by: Dave | 19 July 2005 at 05:41 AM