— unpredictable thoughts

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.