haped lump of land set down to divide the flow of Kaniatarowanenneh on its way to the great sea. There's something different in the air this morning, a turning point, not the finish line but the thought of a new world and this one changing, changing, no turning back, everything the same but new. The river, the birds, the beaver — all seem tuned in to this change, this change to what remains the same. The river is eddying, the birds are gliding and swinging in higher arcs than before. I see the beaver lift its head above the surface to look at me and then to dive again to the secret places there along the shore, using its tail to tell me a secret tale.

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A saffron blackberry sunrise above the ungainly sweet potato shaped lump of land set down to divide the flow of Kaniatarowanenneh on its way to the great sea. There's something different in the air this morning, a turning point, not the finish line but the thought of a new world and this one changing, changing, no turning back, everything the same but new. The river, the birds, the beaver — all seem tuned in to this change, this change to what remains the same. The river is eddying, the birds are gliding and swinging in higher arcs than before. I see the beaver lift its head above the surface to look at me and then to dive again to the secret places there along the shore, using its tail to tell me a secret tale.

Potter Poems is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this