Twilight on the River

by WILL CORDEIRO

   Brisk fish swim under glassy pools
reflecting birds which limn the limits
of shadows spilled across the schools
      as wings fill up the current’s image

   then undulate like fins where sun
spits sparks across the river’s gravel
between my face and flecks of umber 
      revising clouds to drift and dapple.          

   One darting look, twice hurried glance,
dark passing smudges scatter youth.
The mask I wear is circumstance—
      touched water wrinkles skin once smooth.

   The dirt of truth, the light’s ideal,
who knows, at dusk, what either’s worth,
for rivers mirror heaven’s wheel.
      I, too, am flux of star and earth.