The River Bank

I am holding a river and sleep through the night.

I forget how it is that we met:

in short, it flows down the bank,

freely down into the street, overflowing elevators,

coming to my room. A river,

its outline flowing and fat but

with a collarbone, a meandering stream

but all full of nimble fish—

the river stays in all day but

still cannot sleep at night, just now

holding it softly, while it hears my speech about

the ocean a thousand miles away, about the secular world

a thousand miles away. Very quickly it’s at hand,

every drop of water closes up the eyes,

in the brain every swimming fish becomes

as calm as the stars are. I forgot

I was holding its soft waves

sleeping through several generations. I wake up

pull open the window curtains to see

the gorgeous and meandering river

inside the sunshine flowing down with reciprocal love.