Papa and a rope
tied to his waist, baptizing
in this mighty spring fast flowing
mountain of the Mississippi.
A staircase of rapid ripples
smashed with whiteness shivers
to a choir of potential evolution.
As the endless power of beauty
passes through us.
Instantly
a gift and a song
washes over us.
Yeah you’re right!
Wails a corn liquored preacher
From the safety of the levee.
In the knowledge of becoming
a tribe undescribed dividing
clarity into columns of matter
reflects trust in raw humility.
This river pulses on
past any given lock gates
like a decision recognized
rejects open wounds.
Destined to unfold yesterday’s
float in sounds resurfacing
from depths yet to be
fathomed or blessed.
Close by, through cypress
trees and knees
a heron swoops
and the river answers–
Son,
no matter what
you choose to do
from this moment on,
remember,
a mosquito always bites.
