Gravel Bar
Rocks worn
and wood worn by water
into smooth stroked bits
scatter and gather together
in tumbledown banks
covered over with moss
The creek touches
splintered tree and fractured
stone with the same hands
so I can know one from the other
only by its weight in my palm
This is what it is:
a thing makes itself—
grows towards the light
forms underneath the earth—
falls, breaks, crumbles unmade new
The tree that falls over water
leaves a hole, makes a bridge
