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.