Silver Creek In Flood
These live their felt natures; they know their norm
And live it to the brim; they understand life.
Robinson Jeffers, “The Broken Balance”
So quick that his place is where always you look
And he is no longer there. Even when he is still
In a way you have no patience for, he is shifting
Just a little like silt, or perhaps it is only the light
That catches his shimmering, rippling the surface
Of as far as you can reach with stick and string,
Testing whose hunger is stronger. Come dusk
You will leave and he will stir from the deep weeds
Where he settled to wait you out, and leap again
And again at bugs on the water, skipping the surface
Like a silver stone, coming to the edge of all he knows
Or will ever need, his life more beautiful than yours
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2013-04-24 at 20:11
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Lawrence Beck |