The River

T'is the place where he took your mother

When he was your age,

Where he smiled your same Cheshire grin

At her bright mouth, blooming

Into a miracle

Before his very eyes.

And when I see it

I know why she loved him.

And it is a miracle, I think,

As you hold out your slender hand

And ask me to

Follow you over the perilous bridge,

The decaying planks no one

Dares to walk on.

The river pulses

Beneath us

Writhing with hiccups

Tongues

Licking at the rocks.

It is such a surprise,

The murky ribbon

Nestled between shores

How it ripples and

Caresses us,

Our

Innocent white feet

Trembling naked in the water,

How it begs for more.

How I do, when you expose

The October reds and oranges

That have broken out like an

Uncontrollable

Rash.

How we want to

Scratch each other when we see

All of it--

The rushing fluid and the sunny rocks

Where you take

My picture as I leave everything

Unbuttoned,

Flat on my back

My eyes lost somewhere

Near.

And you climb out

Too far for me

Over the massive knot

Of twigs and plastic the current has

Swallowed.

But I take the moment

In my mouth anyway.

And you come

So close

To being

Wet,

But we roll up our pants

And wade through it.

(c)Corey Nixon

published in Skipping Stones 2005

Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA