summer song

under blackberry bridge

—where the river does some

summer dance and gently tells 

its autumn plans

—there i want to listen good and long

and if it talks of living small

and smoothing stones in rainy fall,

and when its whispers swell in summer song...

in the canoe canal

where shiftless empty rowboats sway,

insisting they were born this way,

—there my soul is slipping off to sleep;

  drifting into blackberry deep