3

The Delaware gurgles brown and slow,
limping along beside me, its banks
rotting wood and greenish-slosh
so dark it takes on the sucking terror-color of tar,

harrassed by the steady continental decline
its bitter and stinging waters are forced
out into the far-off sea, to be lost
forever and ever, continuously, infinitely forever
under the weight of ocean salt and kelp,

I can follow its sad movements,
lost among smaller names and twisted channels,
until the heavy tread of the Potomac,
rushing torturously through mountain passes and crumbling hills,
violently floods out its memory,
sending fish and heroes
rushing deaths ahead past Harpers Ferry,
emptying the carriage and its legend
into a muskets wet and gunpowder caked ambush,
Continental army soldiers in dometicated suits and how-do-you-dos,
playing a waiting song
at a broken horse rest-stop far from that iceberg bounding Christmas Eve