November, Anadromous

November, Anadromous

For three days tasting the Chinook

that blows in, melts ice, raises rivers.

When was the last winter the inside

became broken open in flood?

Almost every spring when the world

turns soft. But now when buds break

in the darkest part of year what secrets

will they reveal? Come to me when

the nights are longest. When the gravel

shifts coldly beneath each footstep

and the grey world waits to be re-

blanketed by snow. Take me inside

your hallows and haunts. The blue pocket

of current between the downed tree

and undercut bank. Find me when I

finally arrive home. With what rivers

and oceans the subterranean desire to

return closest to earth? To climb the rung

of each ladder upward, towards a means

and an ends and an untouched sky.

The vast untouchable spaces beyond.

-Cameron K. Scott


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