You flow endlessly.
Over you your lights are beautiful—luminous and
dark, moving and still, broken and whole.
In summer, columns of light—mottled by
In winter, the bleak light over farmland, the
Today, in spring, lights dancing in and out of
shadow—concealing and revealing.
In your course you are infinitely
changing—neither crooked nor straight.
You fit your banks.
Running you are beautiful—slow in the deep
pools—vociferous and fast in the shallows.
In private land you are hidden.
In public land you are open.
Beneath bridges you reflect back the faces of
In winter, you fill with water and become
You race between alders, pound through sluices,
tumble over fords.
You wear a sullen expression.
In summer, you slow up and become limpid.
You display your weed in long floating trails.
You glitter past grazing cattle.
Then after long concealment your fish
appear—sparkling-sided, melting and merging,
vanishing and visible.