Beaver Dam
Though I cannot see them nowI know they are still here, safe
In the stillness of what they made
Where the stream waits and widens
Into a dark and deeper depth.
Deadfall branches already drowned
And buried and not quite risen;
Limbs storm-snapped, nudged down
The slight rolling hill that falls
To the water; cottonwoods that bent
And bowed in a kind of blessing
Bitten through, the soft splashes
Rippling the silence; vines winding
And binding the pieces of a purpose
As unfathomable as my own.
They have made use of it all:
The living and the dead fitted together
Like my life, a puzzle and a prayer
To hold the rushing water back.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 446 times
Written on 2010-12-15 at 13:55
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