It has a hole in it. Not only where I
The river still ribboning, twisting up,
into its re-
Arrangements, chill enlightenments, tight-knotted
And loosenings whispered messages dissolving
The river still glinting-up into its handfuls, heapings.
Forgettings under the river of
And the river of my attention laying itself down
Reassembling over the quick leaving-offs and windy
And the surface rippling under the wind’s attention
Rippling over the accumulations, the slowed-down drifting
Of the cold
I say iridescent and I look down.
The leaves very still as they are carried.