In Love, of the River

Have I
been through
the fire
enough times
that still
it rings
my ears
hints of a bell
chords of mountains
chiming their death away
mountains unto mountains into
a bleaker beginning, itself fried
these down-low curmudgeons
can't help retreating
looking in the mirror
reacting, saying, "More, should
have done,
more!" Or something similar
slices of throats and lozenges
culls of enamored bridesmaids aloft
"Look mother! An Owl!" & so on
the kid cameras clacking on, chirping,
chiming, clicking. Everybody's alive now,
after all, half of time's ancestors,
piled about, spitting in boxes
careening down alleyways disaster on the dial
motives unscented like a scene from a movie
on breakaway, in love, of the river.