It's just poetry, it won't bite

To A River, From the Window of Flight 1914


02.27.17 Posted in today's words by

Max Reif’s most recent poem to appear here was “American Dream, American Nightmare” (January 2017) 

To A River, From the Window of Flight 1914
By Max Reif

Nothing relaxes like a river,
I learn up in the sky.
We parallel you, silver sliver,
as the night grows nigh.

Wander, meander—
never pander.
Slant supply, and
then dogleg back—
so effortless, doing
as you please.
Make me ponder
graceful ease.

You fatten and thin
as you slide beside us,
playful in a sleek
and serious way.

You split in two—
an island born between—
and then merge back to one.

Your silver sword gets lost
as the light gets lost.
You now look lake-like,
dappled with islands; but
I have to strain to see.

Now you’re gone.
I realize
I never asked
your name.



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