On Purpose

We floated onceon the bosom swell of the Black River

It nursed us when we were children

and now we meet here again

but oh this is not the sticky rapture of flies

and germs and mud that used to swaddle us.

Here it is always white; impossibly deep white.

I am here to provide the river memory.

Perhaps it is the only part of you that is preserved,

and I am here to dredge it upfrom your sandy core.