there the bend is
the crook of the creek
the neck of the crane craning up
leg deep
fallen cypress's
their stumps jutting out
above the currents
and the moss clinging to
everything
where men go
at night to
jump in
where the minstrels play at dawn
in solemn currents
passive calls
and there I was baptized
saved
called upon
oh blackwaters
oh the glow oh the birds
beaks sighing so..