linger on the bank
and thank the river for another day—
for my health, for being alive,
pray to the spirit of the river,
offer its love to me
as it carries water to the Gulf,
down from the Gila headwaters—
carry, I pray out loud to the water,
my love,
River Spirit,
as I eat supper in the mountains
in a camp,
run your current into my bone canals
lodge in me marrow-deep
that you love me.
I need faith.
Teach me ceremony to purify myself,
weep betrayals out,
wash my deceptions from me.
twilight stretches out tree shadows
across a broad green field
where migrants
stack truckbeds high
at quitting time,
the baling-machine in the middle of the field,
left-over alfalfa bales spaced end to end for tomorrow.
I give one last look behind,
notice how cottonwoods
brood darker with sunset.
I place the downy breast feather I found at the river
in the plant pot with the rest—
a fledgling hawk’s breast feather,
its name-stone heart experiencing the joy
of learning what wings are and the magic of water.