Another river poem.

TAW

It's been a long time
and only now I choose to call
this river Taw by name
and in the word find the depths
of its ancient origins before hunmanity
as it took a way
through old forest and hills
uncontaminated by silage from fields
flood barriers and quays
arranged by hands eager to control
the habits of nature.

Taw is silently flowing
or strong and dark though means nothing
to the birds whose ancestors
bred and fed here before human traffic
chose a name after the last time of ice
and in the time of forest -
even now there is change
as I watch dry sand blown
across the sandbar following some design
of nature that refines its flatness
refrms its bank
the only final control
over this silently flowing that may flow
beyond the woods
and those anxious
those striving
those warring.



bw
James




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