riversong

by the river
a spot where the mud
is higher than the water,
lower than the bridge

laid back in the slime
watched the birds in the
wind struggle;
tuck the wings and free fall
then catch the wind and float
dive and float, plummet and pump
it looked so damn exciting

but they couldn’t fly away.
above the mighty river,
a tree tunnel , wind gusts
like an on-off switch, the
dimmers set to low: the wind
gusting, then not,

toying with the birds
as the water swirled
around me
on a mud bank.

we’re all glazed to the bowl
of the Wyoming Valley, damned
by kin or drawn in by some strange
force that intends to keep us all
trapped in a tuck and flutter

thats so fun at first but won’t
let go until we lose strength
and collapse, deadspin to the
muddy Susquehanna