South

In the small towns along the river

nothing happens day after long day.

Summer weeks stalled forever,

and long marriages always the same.

Lives with only emergencies, births,

and fishing for excitement. Then a ship comes out of the mist. Or comes around the bend carefully one morning in the rain, past the pines and shrubs. Arrives on a hot fragrant night, grandly, all lit up. Gone two days later, leaving fury in its wake.