Image: Whitewater River near Richmond, Indiana
Every Spring along the Whitewater
I saw that some mysterious hand
Had rearranged the rocks and sand.
The path I followed the Summer before
Had slipped off into the water.
I did not know whose force
Could drive that water among the reeds
And make it shift in its bed
And every Spring draw me to its side.
Whose arms had muscled
To uproot those trees?
Whose fingers had dropped those stones
In patterns along the edge?
I thought only that Winter
Had frozen those images
And after they thawed
They were just not the same.
To read my prose commentary on this significantly revised poem, please visit, “Original Poem: “River God” with Commentary.”
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