surge

the water was here
two weeks ago.
nature sank the
reeds and weeds though,
with sloshed ice 
and snow
pushed against 
these riverbanks.

slow moving massive
bullish currents
like molasses
combed out bent
mud streaked grasses.
spring high tides 
kept tidy lines of
woven waves. 

i look upriver.
cool wind brings
shivers then freezing
breezes. 
one hand to steady 
as one finger traces
absently downward through 
mineralized seasons.

as dust falls from
break walls
calcified wave lined
stains recall
a riverful of water
once stood
where i stand.

breathless, my guess is 
that the ground 
where my hand rests
only recently has 
resettled. 

the fresh borne
soil is restless 
because these days
it rests less as
hikers and bikers cut
paths like wounds
across its fresh 
face. 

it knows that  
something chaotic
stormed through this
tract 
as a reminder
of what owns
this land.

former trees
broke and cracked
lay askew 
on their backs 
and skew 
the soft river edges
with
bristled ledges.

i sit atop a 40 foot pine 
and consider 
for some time 
how majestically 
it lays
at my feet,
and weeps.

the week keeps 
me in
place just like this. 
in stasis. 
in its
fist.

stuck on the bank
of 
work fueled spaces
the constant grind
erases traces
of me.

and like that 
mighty pine 
all i really
want to do 
is
lay down
and stay down.

trampled by elements
outside my control.
flattened
by a force that consumes
me whole.

and
unable to hear
a distant
warning bell toll
that the deluge
is rising.

morska

i recently lost a poem about the
process of losing my grandmother.
the slow tidal gravity that drew me
away from her had me scrambling to 
identify memories of no fixed
address. ironically the faded forms
i could postmark were scribbled on
brightly hued post-its; colour coded
culture schemes with names like rio
de janeiro, bali, helsinki, bora
bora, and marrakesh somehow were not
vivid enough beacons amongst my desk
top miscellany to highlight the
earnest dignity of my own polish
heritage.