The town where I grew up had a river running through it,
as does the town does where I find myself at the other extreme of a journey.
There was a particular spot in that river where it tumbled over rocks
through a narrow in a raging white flume until it settled quietly
in a small pond before it headed off to the sea.
Teens hung out and swam there, we threw ourselves
off a rock escarpment into the water of “The Basin”.
___________________________________________________
That Pond We Called, The Basin
We fetch the river from the river
and pour the river in the river
upstream, downstream
doesn’t matter
this river’s not a caring river
but is ………….. forever
………………….. river
………………….. river
sometimes moving smoothly
its surface gleams in sunstruck air
until it plunges into cataracts
in turmoil, fluming, it
batters, boils, blunders
raking banks— despoiling.
…………………… unsparing river
until it drops
into a basin
into a basin
still then, and saintly,
while its mist (a cool spray
of fluming water
with crisp wet hisses)
plays background
in a watermusic vision
that sounds of symphonies
of high frequency adolescent kissing
which warms its watermusic mixing
it with new levitating air
it with new levitating air
young air
above this basin
which below dives deeper
suggesting stuff
we might be
missing
missing
…………… ah!
fetch the river from the river
and pour the river in the river
upstream downstream
doesn’t matter
this river’s pools
of swirling passion
where lovers drop
their lines for fishing
and love is caught and won
and said, and done
foreswearing darker things,
even the darkest one
even the darkest one
this river’s the only
proven venue
for ecstatic blissing
…………………
for ecstatic blissing
…………………
Jim Culleny
4/21/16
Enjoying the content on 3QD? Help keep us going by donating now.