An Economy of River
I wake too many nights
shivering aways walls
pressed tight to my chest
wake to sheets cold
wet sheets from me
hosing down villages
burning in my dreams
wake to screams and groans
of my own echoing
I think it's grandpa
having dreams again
except he's dead some years
and I wish he was back
this year to wear his shirts
fill old man flannel pockets
with matches and cigarettes
wish he was back to see
the sturgeon and perch
they're nothing but thin
gray and green lines
wavering at the bottom
wish he was back
back to heal sick boats
listen to their hum
and smell of exhaust in clammy air
I wake now to mornings
taste the river for its mood
but my taste is caught
on hooks that barb
the heart in packs of six and twenty
and there is no difference
between waking up to a river
or living next to one
rivers are in the blood
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