River Mercy

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At his feet she is laid resting,

holding up the sun to him;

she presses it

up into his boughs,

and carelessly drops the rays

to filter through him.

 

And he sees his self

image in her

reflections.

 

She naps between them

this afternoon.

She is her blood; together

they stain the rocks

and earth emerald.

 

She does not rush about meadows

searching for leaves:

she sits napping in them,

flirting with the sun;

her dreaming eyebrows

laugh at time.

 

She comprehends me (i stand

ankle deep on the warm,

round pebbles;

 

i watch the still

currents of thought), and

 

i feel the way she thinks.

 

She wanders in her musings

against her crescent banks

into her mountains:

 

she will punish them

with her snow fists!

The mythic dall sheep

tramples them as she clambers.

 

And i can see that they love her:

 

they bow infatuate.

 

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© 1991, 2004, Dan Jensen <djensen@kaweah.com>