(the river as a repetition) 

Michael Garrigan

If money was just a thing to give I’d buy us a Jon boat so in winter 
we’d float on the bloated river, skim the surface, throw some line

and ride the current and watch all the detritus from up north float past. 
We’d levitate with gasoline, impossible to be quiet with so much water. 

What have we done making our lives by this river? How many times will our 
paddles cut it before we know it? I think the thing is we’re okay not knowing.  

Did you notice how the sycamore hung over us as the rain
came today and how we stayed dry, how our smoke sizzled? 

I want to say something never said but I know all those words
are already downstream. So here, take a drag, let’s settle a bit longer.