Watershed

I love to see a clear crystalline water flowing out of a swamp over white sand and decayed wood, spring-like. - Thoreau

i hear lightning

i see thunder

the snow burns

the rain hurts

the sun twists as the moon turns

you and i lace up jello sneakers, running away from ourselves

oblivious to the dust built up on our baker shelves

my amazon package says, "no refunds, no returns"

the river always flows in the same direction

bolstered and filled with affection

its banks crawling with ferns

maybe i'll get the beavers to dam it until it relents and finally learns

i want to fill my hands with the water of its tears

i want to get to know each and every drop by name

even if it takes years

i won't show favoritism

i''ll treat them all the same

as i try to walk on them in some sort of faith-miracle game

i want to mix my dinner's slop from its muck and mire

i want to collect all its trash and mount a spare tire

i want my belly full from an empty dinner

i want to know if anyone or anything is the clear winner

i want to fish for life not with slimy worms but with a slick spinner

after all, i'm just an inexperienced beginner, albeit a creative sinner

Author's Note

"I love to wade and flounder through the swamp now, these bitter cold days when the snow lies deep on the ground, and I need travel but little way from the town to get to a Nova Zembla solitude,—to wade through the swamps, all snowed up, untracked by man, into which the fine dry snow is still drifting till it is even with the tops of the water andromeda and halfway up the high blueberry bushes." - Thoreau