In time these waters headed westward,
Down off overcut overmined mountains
Then through deep gorges and steep knobs
Into a limestone land of largesse
Where winds bear woodsmoke like incense;
A land of a billion years changing.
I come to search out the shape of insight
In a modest creek that swims slowly
Under an October skylight. I crush
Underfoot wild mint, savor the scent.
Minnows flee to safety, crayfish crawl
Under slate rock. From a mulberry bush
Along the fencerow a hermit thrush sings
Gold in praise of beauty and maroon fruit.
Here children used to play; perhaps no more.
From branches of a blue ash in the blue
Distance, a flock of crows crow
Over coffee after breakfast, full-throated
In mocking my strange inability to fly.
In the pasture five Black Angus focus
And bow to the blessing of dark loam.
O, no more must I shun the inherent
Debt of stewardship to this ground.
I look in the mirror of water, consider
My full reflection; and I begin to think
God, gazing into a similar stream,
Determined a final plan for man’s image.
Clumps of fallen leaves float past, modeling
Wounded ducks drinking into death:
For the living it’s always death and decay
But the stones stay; and this creek flows
Away from and toward, ever away from
And toward all things transit and eternal.
2024 Winning Submission for Penned: Poetry