“A creek is more powerful than despair.”
— Jim Harrison
Do you remember the moment before I knew you,
when neither of us existed in the manner in which
a creek does not exist before rain?
I’ve been dreaming the last few nights that I found you,
an eddy that would not,
as it wound up, receive me. You were a star
with ancient arrowheads of trout,
and I felt the pain of breathing then.
Remember the moment you no longer understood
how the rocks could swim like seals,
or how oceans are small compared to the creeks
running through the centre of our lives?
I wonder,is there a fifth season, wandering,
a twisted creek that, with its long fingers,
no longer feels for a Spring?