Poem for Jerry
The river, sounding out its path,
catches you by the blade and spreads
in ever-rising breath: your ankle,
shin and onwards to your calf —
you halt it there. Your memory had bled to
ash an age before and shrank
the creek back to its bed, the bridges
washed away, their concrete bases
strewn along the bank. You laugh
with song and point to the silent ridge-
trees, bereft of water, that trace
the verses of your epitaph.
