by Kate Rauner
A refined river runs today,
Flows wide and calm past quaint cafes,
Flows gently past well-tended homes
Along the yards all freshly mowed.
Tourists sprawl upon its back
To float in tubes and tow six-packs.
But early in the dawn there’s still
The spirit of its ancient thrill.
Fog races water to the sea
And shows its wild side to me.
Flowing faster than the stream,
Turbulent as it careens
Against the shore in silent waves
To undercut the bank it made;
Up bridge’s footings curling high,
Silent crashing on the sides.
Watch the fog and you will see
A river’s ghost that once was free