Only today I heard the river within the river.

                     —Jim Harrison, “Braided Creek”

i’ve crossed hundreds upon hundreds of streams

sank sore feet in toe numbing sludge

slipped off dozens of unexpected drop-offs

felt the implacable fingers of a myriad heavy-handed currents

         which are but one current / the water but one water

                     slinging one song as it laps, pulls

                                 we are alluvium / we are echo

                                             we alluvium / we echo

                                                                                 / us /

i strode rusted iron beam and derelict wooden trestle

         to watch moon melt in shimmers on midnight rapids

                     midday sun simmer on ancient council islands

                                 satellites streak white across

                                             the purple canvas

                                                         of an august sky

worn this bleeding machine on these tattered sleeves

through a lifetime of hazy dawns twirling drunken twilight

         the stars slowly exploding party lights strung up in inebriated haste

                                 winking with swing just inside the pocket

                                             memories: a drip of trapped time

                                                         in a gifted brass locket

                                                                     with a faulty closing

                                                                                 mechanism

                                                         every passing a prayer

                                 a crystalline slice of americana

         muted snaresnap becomes rolling thunder

but i keep returning to you, dear Nolin,

         shuttering like flickering heraclitus’ ghost

                     this faulty projector with terribly spliced tape

                                 disjointed chorus of the seemingly unrelated

                                                         becomes

                                             a montage of water traversed

                                                         a slow zoom out to see the whole

                                                                     shebang makes up a seamless gif

                                                                                             of you, dear Nolin,

                                                                                 bed of late fall’s orphans / your belly

                                                                                             browned green / flat, glassy, & still

                                                                                                         this section of your life

                                                                                                                     a languid bend

                                                                                                                                 with

                                                                                                                                 kingfisher