carried away I was, and am
by the river turning tightly
just downstream from the red
rusted bridge with steel trusses,
oh how the steam rises like smoke
from wood fires in the yellow glare
of noon’s torrid lusty sun
and far below on this cool thin back
of blue liquid silk float ducks and geese,
acres of forgotten garbage and stink
mixed with the half-lived dreams of
blinking old men who stare into the past,
stifle their regrets as it forward flows
slowly away
across fields and foothills where lanky
aspens of gold dance such a delicate
and bold quiver and sway.
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