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On a riverbank in Willingboro, N. J.

March 1976

The River

I watched the ice go home last night,

while you lie curled up in your dreams.

After you left I couldn't sleep,

instead I walked down along the river,

stood in the fog

listening to the ice

crashing against itself,

in it's hurry to reach it's journey's end.

It was different from the way it left.

hardened somehow and cold,

but going homeward to the sea.

I remember wondering,

how many things it's seen,

or if it even noticed the voyeur

standing on the bank.

What were your dreams about, anyway?