THIS PECULIAR PRAYER

Between millrace and rapids
on a scrap of river island
in the middle of Middlebury
beavers have felled two trees.

From the foot bridge I can see
muddy tracks in snow
where the beavers hauled themselves across,
and yellow shingles shaved by yellow teeth.

There is no other sign:
no dam, no lodge, no trail.
I keep going there.
I can’t help myself.

Snowmelt stretches the river over its banks,
backwater flotsam swirls in spirals.
I am leaning on the bridge and watching,
praying my peculiar prayer:

Teach me to dare to hope.

April  9, 2001 (when there was actually melting snow)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.