I was longing for spring
but it was not forthcoming
so I went to sit by the river
and found that, as always,
the winter storms
have changed it. The bank
on the other side is gone
and the river has a new course.
The granite boulders are sparkling clean.
When last I was there
at the end of fall
the air was still filled with smoke
and there was very little water.
The boulders were slippery and orange
and stank of algae
that had grown and died
and the rocks on the bottom
were covered with mucky green.
Drought and fire in the autumn
were followed by winter storms and flood
and now we may be close to the other side,
to the time when flowering trees bloom
and the poppies raise their orange heads
on the bright green hillsides—
but not quite yet.
For now, what we have are
granite boulders scoured clean
by powerful water that rose high
and scrubbed out all the muck.
For now, what we have
is a river whose course was changed
by powerful water that rose high
and washed away resistance.
O let us be that storm that comes
Let us be that water
that rises high
Let us be that water
that has such power
that power
that power
that power
Let us be that power
that scrubs away filth
and washes away resistance
and leaves behind only clean stones
only clean stones
and the knowledge
that flowers
will be blooming soon.