I circle you as time circles history
first with one dog, then two, then one.
We accept each other’s changes.
The salmon flash through, fighting
for their lives. The nutria are trapped
with apples and sent away.
Your waters rush and pool, rush and pool.
By the stepped rocks, Henry loved to drop his ball
then retrieve it where it bubbled up downstream.
The whole canyon was painted with his joy then.
Today, sun breaks through your canopy and skips
along the surface of things. Morning placid as a poem
not yet traveled, its mirror face undisturbed.
The geese sing their chorus of wings
The toads whisper what toads know.
I walk the perimeter I am allowed where
days before my son was born, a spider
once bit my neck. Spider, weaver of fate.
This is how we are blessed. What hurts us
also heals us. The ancient heron lifts
its improbable wings and enters
the plain welcome of sky.