Rivers on bridges over the Hillsborough,
Gray above and below gray
And below that grayer still.
Rivers that over eons of prayer waiting
Surf upon the stormy swell.
Anger, impatience, traffic is deadlocked on
Small Memorial Highway.
Crawling time and memory,
Neither of which will take me to you nearly
Quick enough to give me strength.
Rivers cascading out of an eye seeing
Only stalling, allayed love,
Majesty below the ground–
Water alike is dancing there. Yet waiting.
Waiting through and to the air.
Out of the gray and into the same gray of
Time, a torrent or slow leak,
There is longing on the bank
Should you be wont to stop; you can watch as it
Washes all the cars away.
A place for my poems 