by Paul Jaskunas
Over bedrock, the water slides,
flecked with leaves curled crisp,
golden-hulled boats a-sail in the current,
spinning, spun, snagged, freed,
oblivious to the river’s bend,
around old trees felled like old men,
logs abloom with rot and moss.
Even the stones erode and crumble,
pebbles to sand, land disappearing
under my feet as I watch
the leaf boats drift and wish them
bon voyage, fare-thee-well,
like steamers laden with loved ones,
dear ones, such tender, tender life
pulling away, into a future
deep, vast, and drowned.