Falls City

Here’s the deal, poet, with cities
built by the falls of wide rivers,
these hard places where you unload
your cargo and portage the well-
worn path — life is not the flatboat
held fast by sun-rotted hemp. And
it’s not the bales of tobacco toted
by dark men naked to the waist,
glistening. Life is the river itself
pouring over the falls, dashed
to vapor on the rocks, recirculating
in mad whirls, releasing into the flow.
Close your eyes, my love, let me
tell you what I see — the mist
rising into rainbows over the plunge,
bubbles spinning past snapping turtles
sunning on logs, and the heron aloft
on sure wingbeats that slice the air
into so many shimmering inspirations.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Falls City

  1. Ray, that’s remarkable.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s