Poem today : Climbing the Chagrin River

We enter
the green river,
heron harbor,
mud-basin lined
with snagheaps, where turtles
sun themselves–we push
through the falling
silky weight
striped warm and cold
bound­ing down
through the black flanks
of wet rocks–we wade
under hemlock
and white pine–climb
stone steps into
the time­less castles
of emer­ald eddies,
swirls, channels
cold as ice tumbling
out of a white flow–
sheer sheets
fly­ing off rocks,
friv­o­lous and lustrous,
skirt­ing the secret pools–
cradles
full of the yel­low hair
of last year’s leaves
where griz­zled fish
hang halfway down,
like tar­nished swords,
while around them
fin­ger­lings sparkle
and descend,
nails of light
in the loose
rac­ing waters.

© Mary Oliver.