My river

You can have your mighty Niagara and Mississippi;
I have mine, the River It is mine.
The swift current, the cold depths
The dock above, the waving weeds below.
Wide in space; dividing 2 nations.
Uniting lake and sea and sphere.

We wear fins and masks to delve the deep
And swim around the island.
Scary, monster rocks swell before out eyes;
weeds licking at our legs.
It must not touch me, any of it.
Ooo, my chest is tight, but I must see.
Water must encase me safely as I search
her depths.

My river. It is mine.
On a good day, the surface shatters the sun
into innumerable twinkling stars.
On a bad day the wind whips up white caps
and hides the floor of the water filled canyon
of my heart’s home.
There are no bad days.
My face is wet from rain or spray or tears.

We zoom about our water world by day…
waiting for glass, waiting to ski, skiing.
Fishing for sunfish in the slips for fun
with worms and bread;
or cast for pike and bass with lures.
Just to be on the river, near enough to see her…
in the quiet dawn or dusk.
My river. It is mine.

Just to be on the river, near enough to see her
at all times. Like the need for air.
My river. It is mine.
She is in my soul. She is in my heart.
Sold or not. She is mine. My river.
St. Lawrence. St. Lawrence.