Rivers are singers, they flow in songlines … did you know? This poem shows you.

Kevin Cowgill

They are one, your waters,
all ages together.
The valley sky cracks all along with your roar.
Here you ring – D sharp, C sharp, ping.

At each step I strike your poems,
your ribs of water-song that burst with news –
the faces that stare from the balanced rock,
the fords that lace the lace of your foam

and flies thin as thorns’ ends and
acorn-amber and green-nesses of
unrepeated un-numbered fronds …
The colt whinnies.

All this (the river says), all this
(oh starry-eyed traveller)
lessens.  All this feeds a fire
you must thwart.

Image copyright Lewis Clarke, licensed for re-use under Creative Commons license

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