THE RIVERS IN ME
After Langston Hughes
I am no gash in waiting
There are rivers in me
silent, evergreen
under wizened granite slopes
frothing and weed choked
from cleansing spring rains
roiling rusty through arid plains
between scrub lined scabbed banks
rivers swollen with tongues
drawn out of dark seas by
a need no rapids or massing
of hungry bears will foil
schooling with hard won
truths to seed in hostile pools
under a distant sun
