Mirror – by Thomas Zimmerman

The river’s mirror flows unseen, then seen,
breathes mist that honeys tongues and throats in song,
that jewels the threadbare waking mind. The green
and black quotidian grows twelvefold strong
and infinite. We see that everything
is river-fed: the roots and sources, veins
and arteries; the constant flux of wing
and fin and hoof; the spring and autumn rains
that fall on all, combined and recombined.
Our song is crying: jubilation, grief,
the sour-sweet of things alive. We find
ourselves, our place: a baby’s hand a leaf,
our genitals in flower, flying geese
the wrinkles in a father’s face at peace.