I.  Visitation

At water's edge, I know what I am shown.
Because of what I know, I come.
The tilting willows nudge their green from bone.

By evening light, I learn to be alone
And watch the concrete banks turn platinum.
At water's edge, I know what I am shown.

Mere April penetrates the crust of stone,
No deeper than the seed or spore or scum.
The tilting willows nudge their green from bone.

The moulting blackbird comes into his own,
His wings as scarlet as delirium.
At water's edge, I know what I am shown.

A mallard preens and struts.  His flesh has grown 
Weary of lovelessness and nearly numb.
The tilting willows nudge their green from bone

A heron takes to wing, his lonesome moan
Reminding each is part and not the sum.
At water's edge, I know what I am shown.
The tilting willows nudge their green from bone.


II.  Meditation

A river bends to blind geometry.
The hawk ascends a random thermal stair.
Meandering, we reach what we must be.

I stand above the riverbank and see
How concrete sheds its military glare.
The river bends to whose geometry?

Dead souls believe they channel victory
By what they wall of what the earth may bear.
Meandering, we reach what we must be.

Our feet transcribe the hearts geography.
We wish to walk.  A current takes us where
The river bends to blind geometry.

I pray my bones might rise as guilelessly,
The way a hawk will ride the brilliant air,
Meandering, to reach what he must be.

All walls are built of our mortality.
All water seeks itself.  I'm waiting there.
The river bends to blind geometry.
Meandering, we reach what we must be.


III.  Invocation

We are what we become by what we dream
In dreaming, wade into eternity.
The heron cocks a yellow eye upstream.

His hunger rises heavenward like steam,
As does our own, once we begin to see
We are what we become by what we dream.

Sing down the River's banks, their concrete gleam-
A tomb affronts all souls that would be free.
The heron cocks a tired eye upstream

Amid the waste and shame which here blaspheme
The straining reed, the greening willow tree. 
We are what we become by what we dream.

Let us now pray a wailing sky will teem
With rain to bear our human taint to sea
And heron cock a wary eye upstream.

As time must ever turn its timeless theme,
What has been done must one day undone be.
We are what we become by what we dream.
The heron cocks his hungry eye upstream.