THE RIVER STARTS TO RUN

No one ever leaned eyes upon my harbor lights.

No one ever leaned on my best survivors in the night.

This sense of isolation inspires you—

all the dirt, all the same.

Wretched desert takes its form, gluey feathers on a million years.

She is smiling and the photo is smiling, the river starts to run.

She is rediscovered in the night, rediscovered in the darkness,

hoping someone might come near.

No one ever leaned eyes upon my harbor lights.

No one ever leaned on my best survivors in the night.

(September 30, 2011)