slow water
Kaw falls over Bowersock Dam powers now more in its cold than force power to kill and drive bald eagles to wheel about its only open water fishing for those deciding whether to leave the river mouthing indecision so close to air that talons make their choice and hold them to the cottonwood flesh spinning about like seeds that break from the pearls of dioicious plants or capitols that crack to roll into a frozen rivers swirl as much a slave as silt and when the liquid locks braves climb out on the river cackling like metal kicking glass ice across its mothers grave face in salute to winters taking a few into the drink those few who could not know how long the journey into spring for those lost beneath Januarys window Februarys shards and March slush who couldnt know how dull the mud can be in feel more grey than leaden skies and musty visions of scudding bison clouds all this and still winter cleans away the death of spring down in this valleychallenge poem Written January 3rd, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 09:34 AM PST, Frederic Jacob Gutknecht IV 0 • 10
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"Kaw falls ..."