The Tuross River

The river is not the

sea; it speaks another

tongue, a regional

dialect thick with inflectives.

The river cuts time into

ribbons, marking moods with

a slow second hand; in a minute

the river has thought

through several lifetimes.

Beethoven's sonatas suit

these lights; conversation

more nuanced than

the shouting of the sea.

And Solomon's quiet

well-tempered hands match

each to each, the river's

improvisation of dark, of light.