At the Confluence of Latah Creek and the Spokane

by Damien Uriah

the present word sleeps
in a wet tennis shoe laid on a tarp
while the nameless bird sings from the south
as if resting in the sky
in another world the river woman sneaks up behind me
her footprints travelling as rocks

the green hands of trees
needles, ovals, nameless shapes
capturers of wind
the wind’s recognition

the gray hands of the far roads
snake lines dug in the mountain
capturers of persons

the brown hands of the mountain
are rounded, worn fingers
capturers of cloud
the sky’s recognition

the green hands grow on the brown hands
do they know of the brown hands as they drink
from their bodies

the white hands of the clouds
grow sick, amorphous, whimsical
capturers of the burning
supplicants of the perfect soul

the water will awaken this dead the water
will awaken this dead one day but for now

the people of the sun are waiting


Damien Uriah grew up on the Oklahoma side of the Ozark mountains. He currently lives in Spokane, Washington, where he writes, studies, and teaches literature. In addition to being a poet, Damien is a stone-mason, gardener, and musician. Some of his poetry can be found in Heron Tree and Three Line Poetry.

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