River Sweep

River Sweep

(“The rich and the poor meet together; the Lord is the Creator of them both.” Proverbs 22:2)

Wherever I be, straight line or crooked tree,
the rivers birth winter snow down the early May gorge
toward
the ocean full of swimming and floating,
diving and quoting the songs of Him
who made it all.

From midnight Marianas Trench to
luminous sandbars overrun by fleas and hermit crabs,
every stretch of imagination feeds our fascination
with the circle bouquets; life and breath,
gills or lungs,
eyes or tentacles,
fins or fingers;
we mostly blush at our preconceptions.

But let the unwashed bump me on the
crowded aisle of Wal-Mart AutoParts
and I lose interest in the theme of things,
the string of things that attach us all,
charms on a young girl’s bracelet.

Let the unknown language invade my
English comprehension and I might replace
my love of time and space with a catchphrase of
alienation; stepping beyond the border from outside
in,
we argue the space invasion. We bought this air,
this two foot square occupied by my intonations.

River run past the shanties,
river sweep past the cliff dwelling mansions,
river sweep the sweet sands and firewood to the sea,
to the sea,
and river bring back the wonder of living,
and breathing, and the Creator’s design
signed on each low and high with the same
name, Emanuel, for each. For all. For me,
for me.