Poem: Current

By:  Richard Luftig

A river needs descent of an eighth of an inch per mile to produce a flow, and if that is the case, our river probably fails—Henry David Thoreau


This river has nowhere special
to go and all the time to do it.
Now it is late autumn and still
it struggles to move, shake itself

loose, get its dead logs
downstream before the first
grips of winter grab hard
upon the land. And we

too stuck in this drive-by
town, this fly-over State,
need to keep current,
collect the twigs and branches

of rumors, kindling really,
for the best gossip that allows
us to stoke the fires
of our February lives.

Categories: Poetry

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