you walk the left bank of the quinobequin
windswept cold winter sun low in the south
reflecting on the river it lightens your step
just visible with a rightward glance
scratching the cornea when you look
at rippling scattering sparkling shine

wide open at the mouth beckoning
mighty! named by a half-french king
now meandering back toward itself
its source in some obscure pond
in a fenced suburban backyard
only twenty five miles away

today i became water and
let bufflehead bellows echo across me
let me freeze over to certainly thaw
let me crash ahead with great fortitude
and now lose my nerve and turn about
but always always inexorably onward
(fractalizing infinities notwithstanding)
to merge myself forever to the sea