SpringTide

Flood stage, the river
quit its timeworn bends.
Trees, became flotillas torn

to writhe along the river's brim.
Under yesterday's rolling bolt
of amassed rain, beleaguered hills

endured the river's inconstancy.
Only stone hindered tributary.
Towns upstream were washed over.

Our intervale was washed over.
Embrowned water beat through
afternoon into a weedy midnight,

and almost into stands of dawn.
An Apollonian sun in a slow sky
now smirks over hung over water.

Copyright © Marc Awodey

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