The river has pressed its sleek back
Beyond the bank
Forcing walkers back
From their path
Giving ducks new horizons
Opposite me here, wet-footed on the bench
A bare tree is troubled
By some submerged thing
Making a frail and trembling hand
Of its upheld branches
Water moving through this place
Like a dark serpent
Water that fell on hills
Yielded from ice
A hundred miles from here
Passes me now
Passes the willow
Hanging in the last
Orange light of day
Trailing its fingers
In coils and eddies
It is all framed here
Indifferent and alive
Alive and forever passing