Photographing the Water
1
The bank falls
sharply to the small river.
Birches, rooted in,
catch us in their trunks
as we tumble awkwardly down
to the sound
of the water.
This late afternoon
only the leaves
at the top of the birches
at the top of the bank
are catching some final honey light
It is too dark to
photograph the river.
Spring River runs a ways past this primeval point
then dives subterranean
and flows with other forgotten things.
2
I am always arriving
at the place where you might be,
suburb and city, wheat field and campus,
summer winter fall spring . . .
I believe it is this faith
that keeps one foot moving ahead
of the other.
One foot now finds itself silly
in a cold white sink.
As the water rushes furiously
over my instep I realize
it doesn’t matter that I don’t have that river
captured.
When I find you we’ll be there.
by Celia Hooper
(not sure of date, maybe 1980?)