I sit by the river
And watch the metallic spark
Of the setting sun
Define each coil and curve
Of the surge of the river
Flowing like molten steel
Burning a path through the open flats
Burning a path though our simple lives
With nothing more to do here and now
Than watch the perpetual course.
Last light of the day
We grasp onto it
With both hands
Afraid to lose what we once had
Forgetting that tomorrow
We will have something new
Is it this innovation that frightens us?
This is not the end of the day
But the beginning of feeding time
As the elk emerge from the solace of black timber
Once again trusting the exposed meadows
In the renewed silent static darkening
Shetler of the open places.
On the other side of the river in the naked flats
Afraid to let go of the consolation of light
A formation of geese
Shine silver against the indigo sky
In the last of the luminosity
As they fly so loudly
To their near by sanctuary
Calling it a day
As the light readies to fade to black.
Before the sun lowers itself behind the mountain
To the west from where this water flows
I watch rays of sunshine casting horizontal shadows
Long and lean and sharp
Lying like knives in a drawer
Across the edge of tree line
And then it is gone
The river turns black and cold and still.