Poem: Sanity, Southwest of Bend

River with no headwaters,
no spring. It appears
from a tear in the earth,
a mail slot, a subtle spot,
between fallen firs.
The forest protects it.
The forest says “stay near,”
like a parent says to a child
on a busy street. The river
obeys, in no hurry.
The moss has its green say.
White trunks cross it like mesh.
Floating leaves gather
in the snares and sprout flowers.
If I was the sun, I would leave
it alone. I would not dare warm it.
Gravity reduces it, lowering it
across Oregon’s high desert
to dry fly casters, tube floaters,
rapid shooting kayakers
and riparian rights of farmers.
In a world that gasps violently
for even more water, there must
be this breath, of first calm pools.

This poem first appeared in Transit Power (2023)