Brady Peterson

If I am not home here, then where—
Did you hear the sound this morning.
Yes, you say—some bird, but not a hawk—
we walk the river, map the currents,
and talk about taking a canoe downstream
toward the gulf. If not now, when—

but not now. The hassle of loading,
the necessity of a leaving a second vehicle
at some crossing clutters the simplicity.
Still, the urge tugs at your sleeve—
You remember a time when you almost
drowned in this water—

though upstream twenty miles,
before the dam, before the lake.
We are too damn old, you grumble.
Still, the urge.

          Brady