It has a hole in it. Not only where I
concentrate.
The river still ribboning, twisting up,
into its re-
arrangements, chill enlightenments, tight-knotted
quickenings
and loosenings–whispered messages dissolving
the messengers–
the river still glinting-up into its handfuls, heapings.
glassy
forgettings under the river of
my attention–
and the river of my attention laying itself down–
bending,
reassembling–over the quick leaving-offs and windy
obstacles–
and the surface rippling under the wind’s attention–
rippling over the accumulations, the slowed-down drifting
permanences
of the cold
bed.
I say iridescent and I look down.
The leaves very still as they are carried.
(Jorie Graham)
More Poetry from Jorie Graham:
- Of The Ever-Changing Agitation In The Air (Jorie Graham Poem)
- Manteau Three (Jorie Graham Poem)
- The Guardian Angel Of The Private Life (Jorie Graham Poem)
- Le Manteau De Pascal (Jorie Graham Poem)
- San Sepolcro (Jorie Graham Poem)
- To A Friend Going Blind (Jorie Graham Poem)