Praise Poem to the Rio Chama in Autumn

Praise the river and it’s stripes of white and warm reddish rust

Praise the sprinkles of green clinging to the edge

Praise the fetid, gunky grass and the mud that veils it

Praise the crisscross: the river digs into the earth and calls it her own

Praise the river, agua es vida
it flows slender and strong

Praise the solitary here, but for the river and the decay beside it
the dark billows
the tent of lemon-lime leaves

Praise the bobbing branches, too late to bloom
and the underlings and pushed out buds;

most will never materialize, much as they may try
much as they never stop trying,
much as they reach and cling
to the sinking sun