At Thomson Dam on Good Friday
I am a buoy in the river
orange ball bouncing
my powerlessness
gives me purpose
hang on tight
fight the current.
To someone standing on the bridge
I must look useless.
My rope is tied to
ancient Laurentian rock
surviving since creation.
Come back in August
when levels are low
and I will once more
mark safe passage.
Hidden Stuff
Just once I’d like to have a day
to do nothing but watch hawks
and treetop eagles.
Stand by a river when winter melts
and Spring flexes her muscles,
the Embarrass or Pokegama
would do just fine.
Feel the weight of frozen months
rise with the boiling sap steam
my feet once more anchored
to brown, soft ground
soup stock where ancient elements swim
hidden stuff of Emerson.