The Spill

A poem about an unused waterway

Muted winter valley mourns the sinking river 
capless acorns hazard hardpack gravel 
mats of moss and early shoots, a soft reprieving path
smooth beguiling river rocks rolling underneath

centuries of laughter 
slide downhill at the pace of rain
get a better look at the sure-footed swimmer
coldly highstepping slick rotten velvet of ice steeped oak leaves

naked oaks and birches dance
blue waveforms on the ridge
these roots never ranged so deep
this soil never set so loose

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