Night Along Front Street

Night Along Front Street

The Clark Fork River           cold catching on rocks
cresting           blackwhite in night: rush-open-iris.

A pick-up backs slowly from the house;
exhaust plumes out           vague words.

In a flash of brake light           red sudden eyes           look to the past,
oiled cloth comes over the sky           and angels salt the road.

Everything you knew           melts in these hours;
ivy creeps the house windows           in death patterns.

You have always sought yourself in darkness           in fear in
card games and running drunkenness.

Through the house           the clock anticipates. Something
           will appear by morning.

Where is the walk out of here? How are heavy stones moved?
Listen for old seed deciding to flower.

The God of Fire voices in your rooms:
           everything you recognized was already yours;           it’s true.

Orion settles the sword.           Swans carry sun on silver wires.
The river is swollen with spring,           churning,
                                                                           passing state lines.