steamboat rock

steamboat rock

she peers into the river

jagged eyes

red needles among green

and ready to shed

the water at her feet

is deep olive

almost soundless but

for boulders she has

pitched

in its way

there is an old pine stump

beside her river

a casualty of wind

some visitor could not help

but see a face within

a sad face hidden

in grass

and so with chainsaw

growling against the cliff

expressed

the sunken eyes

blind, or closed

into a prayer

lips still, waiting

to part

a dialogue resumes--

words I cannot hear

easily

they are pitched so far below

the range of urgency

I hear enough to think

perhaps the artist mistook

solitude for sadness

and that I have mistaken

kinship for solitude

perhaps many faces are hidden

peering from the trunks

waiting

for my words