I was young once and didn’t know it
was the frothy whitewater time of my life;
strong, violent and shaping sharpness smooth
before becoming gentle in dreary decline,
widening into pools where dark carp lurked
and skulked in the muck that had settled below.
Still, there was a seeping of black earth green
around me and, for a moment, purpose
until everything turned the after-harvest brown
of a tired and worn-out ground.
Big River Poetry Review - June 2, 2012