There was never danger in this black sad water.
Not one monster. Not one cruel event along
the bank. It was peaceful even when that carnage
raged up north. The plague passed by
without one victim, and if a barge
hauled contraband, the tedious rhythm
of its cruise always made the mean cop sleep.
The captain of the tug arrived from upstream country
angry: they still sing about the girl
who threw the lock gate open at the curve.
The danger is the world reflected off the black.
The peace of maple shade is doubled. Silence
is compounded until wrens are roaring
and the soft plunk of a frog goes off
beside us bang. Fields that never meant
a lover harm slant eerie, and the next town
promises no language or a stove.
We have followed and followed it down,
past farm and kiln, the seldom used repair shop,
the warm creak of rusted lock gate gears,
unattended locks and wild vines thick
as the quiet, and here’s the end: the town
and stores sell candy. The final gate swings open.
The black canal turns generous and green
and issues gifts, barges, tugs and sailboats
to the open world. Never was a danger
and they float out, foam out, sail out, loud.