125. rvr & mtn

he mutters
interminably
to himself
about mtns

& the way the t
rises up in
the middle
of each

“green & rounded
grant us woods
to hold these
soft curvaceous
forms in place

“that grey
square castle
on the west edge
of this river
hardly flowing
breaks
this round
& greenness

everything straight
is a prison

like
a
left
margin
left
in
place”

he wears
the sun as a shirt
his pants
are two strains
of the Hudson
slipping by
a small &
crumbling castle
on an island
just big enough
to hold
decay
his shoes are
dark & smelly
soil

everywhere
where
an eyelet
of an island
rises out
of mud-green
water a wave
curls white
& breaking
before
subsiding
back into
that steady
silent
movement
southward

“the river
sinks into
the earth
to a depth
only the
trapped v
of rvr
contends

everything
upward
is downward
the thin or
wide leaves of
the butternut
sycamore
birch maple
locust some
with hearts
or staghorn
sumac about
to break
into color
are merely
extensions
of a deeper
set of branches
slithering
into the
dark blind
earth”

the Gunks
are steady
as his gaze
up out of
river green-
blue & green
woods like
lichen at
their feet
& head
rust-red
pillars of
a faceless
face

train runs
along
a margin
between
water &
waiting
for water
to come
& sits
low enough
to sip
from the
small
lappings
at the bank

“difference
btwn being
in place &
of a place
& moving
slow but
steady away is
the difference
btwn the
town hidden
in the mtns
of btwn &
the river
moving w/o
moving down
into the earth
south to
the city out
to the sea”