Down at the end of river road
the houses show off concrete knees,
with skirts drawn just above the mud
that creeps up through the Augustine
beginning early June.
Some rivers, when they start, seem nothing
like their parent ocean’s genes;
they use the drying distance from the shore
while they’re still condensation hung
from gray and pregnant clouds
to form their own personalities.
Yet, even these stray souls return,
some from great lengths, and seek their source;
and once the delta’s fingers grasp
their children’s hands in welcome back,
all rivers lose their separateness.
So slow, they seep back to the sea with saturating steps;
and at the end of river road they meet up, with a roar.
26 May 2005