Poetry: The River | clivejames.com
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The River

Today herons don't fly but stalk with jurisprudence;
and there's a line of retreating water where they put

their beak- and step-marks. I watch them go forward,
then reconfigure each step. Here, no cadence lifts

them through a tightening sky; but they seem to
watch the scansion lines fish make when they mouth

the surface. Today, no bird need transpose its steps
into an over-solicitous reach, or find a current through

their feet. It is enough to watch a river widen with
loose and silent evidence of a strenuous life beneath.