"Through the soft evening air unwinding all,
Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds,
In dulcet streams, in flutes' and cornets' notes,
Electric, pensive, turbulent, artificial..."

– Whitman, from Italian Music in Dakota





Neshonoc


Wild, moon-light like water
we can never forget
that your pools are not stationary
yet hold our history in place as color.
Out of your edges are our mists of understanding this place.
Clouds sojourn in aimless lace.
What ships!
What a pattern did the Winnebago know just like this
and mention to themselves the careless wind,
how to set out on the birchbark down rapids,
knees down on the soft pulp of white wood
howling at the abundance.
We no longer know the sun-world.
How sharp foil of blue shines is Neshonoc,
a day's invitation,
or why to cast a line down to depths.
Listen as the maple leaf falls.
How it forms its dry cradle to tick
up against the shoreline,
autumn's floating golden treasure
if your hand is out.