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You, river, solace for so much loss

Still you sink me into missing

Until it becomes a condition of water


And every time I look at you

Consolation & thievery combine

As you bring me the calm of recurrent rhythm


And in the same instant say I will never

Be released from nostalgia, from imagining

You as you were, before machines took the forest


To mud, a mill was built, run & felled, rip-rap

Slapped up along the banks, streams jammed

Into pipes – that narrative including his face –


The last rupture, the first lushness – all of it one

In this cold December view over what will not let

Me go – the tributary of both healing & sorrow.