River Song

Poem by Joanna Pearson

It’s a given

to rove rivers

but never, no,

twice to rise

from the same river

riven via

its own traverse,

shivering over

stones grinning

white as teeth grit,

ever singing.  

Vie to trace egress

to source, verging

tributaries riving 

the very groin

of earth, siring 

grove after virgin grove,

giving vigor.

We are goners,

every one,

roses riveling,

resigned.

Let the river rinse

us clean, reverse

our course, one sign 

we sing and serve,

engrossed,

until we cross

into sweet verse

spilling at the mouth.

 

 American Arts Quarterly, Spring 2015, Volume 33, Number 2