CASPER
THE FRIENDLY GHOST
Stopping by the River in Spring
From far snow dissolving, this river
marked No Trespassing by the shore
where I linger, in lingering daylight,
waked by the water's rash-white
voyage, rags that tear the light farther
into the pines, their feathers darkening
above this choiring: insects, blackbirds,
squirrels chattering around its rush
drinking long borders where I am
diminished, looking, feeling its skin.
Farther there leaps the animal or sleek
trout darting. Yes, I would like to cross
into shadow-gold everywhere now. Yes
it's true I was in the woods and walked
halfway across, then stood above its cataract.
The bridge pressed time and me into its name.
From far snow dissolving, this river
marked No Trespassing by the shore
where I linger, in lingering daylight,
waked by the water's rash-white
voyage, rags that tear the light farther
into the pines, their feathers darkening
above this choiring: insects, blackbirds,
squirrels chattering around its rush
drinking long borders where I am
diminished, looking, feeling its skin.
Farther there leaps the animal or sleek
trout darting. Yes, I would like to cross
into shadow-gold everywhere now. Yes
it's true I was in the woods and walked
halfway across, then stood above its cataract.
The bridge pressed time and me into its name.