The arch in the bridge. The moment of architecture. The island where you lost your mother's keys. The photo she sent of someone who looks like her walking to the point where the land becomes reminiscent of dissolving of flesh. The trees stamped onto our minds like traumas are supposed to be. The frightening blanks where the stores were. The sense the owners died. How many people killed by logs, do you think, over the years? The moon sitting greedily on your house. The carrying of one another when young, light, and poisoned. The doorsteps we were left on. The fox scat. The extra points in school. Who knew how prominently quarries featured? Only once or twice in a lifetime does one find the suicide or hear the primordial screaming. The towns nearby that survive on museums of their earlier burning. The dreams set in neighbor's houses. The mounds with hooves and bones sticking out. The gentle sloping. We will always be swimmers digging into the thaw. The former newness. The various cuts of meat. The places cats won't go. The climbing out onto the banks. The naked man working harmlessly in the woods. Like a milkweed or fox you are something that parted the dirt here. The rotting that sets in when you leave.
I am shown a generosity so muddied at the muddy bottom of a question I forget to ask until it's fished out but bloated but in the manner of a net a web of causal connections attached to its corners gently moving over the surface of the water how come the road couldn't have stayed followed by way of hollowed out logs & paddles made of pawpaw wood rather than by the crows alone to the moment when the Monongahela the Allegheny the Ohio meet I hate the underside of an idea but I like the underside of grass that grows underwater and I've seen it from there blossom as if the water had suddenly stopped and then surged forth from there I can see a shoal of tadpoles drowning themselves I hate the idea of the Ohio as a magic carpet into the heart of the continent a great gift of geography a gleaming highway carrying a tide of settlement and expansion but I despise the idea of the three rivers as my family tree their canals tributaries & branches meeting & later the Mississippi by its side for miles until along comes my baby floating in a basket down the Colorado I despise all such undertows and the fact that I've never heard steamwhistles or boatmen's bugles I've never traveled aboard The Messenger The Telegraph The Gladiator The Ohio Belle or The Great Republic nor have I put my foot in the Ohio anymore than you and the Niagara I abhor the Niagara in winter the difficult beauty of its frozen falls and all they've come to represent.