Psalm for the river 

                The meadow is arching downward

                toward the banks of the river.

                The meadow wants a drink of running water.

                If the river's top-sheet appears to run northward

                it's due to the strength of the southerlies 

                as they move across the water.

                The weight and depth of the river runs

                from north to south and it’s always been that way.

                Well, that is for as long as I can remember.

               The light remains translucent and steely-grey.

                I'm impatient for sundown lest I begin singing like Ferlinghetti

                "afflicted with observation fever."–– Just another crazed, love-sick canary.