Quetzalcoatl by Ed Coletti
(watercolor and archival ink - February 2009)
by Ed Coletti
You used to read your poems to the river.
You’d written her name as Flower
but pronounced it Flō-er
as though her naming assertively moved her.
Not the diminutive Flo of a woman named
nor il Fiume Arno running through
font of so much art, home of Dante
who I like to think often spent
his moments reading to the river.
And you did so frequently beginning,
“My dear Flo always flowing,
reminding me, as Al Young writes,
that all of time is fake at least
where the river flowing is concerned,
and Amy urged we pound the piano
like it’s our last song or our first.
“Fleeting river fleeing me
No one stops the river
ever leaving — only leaping into
or more simply
reading to the river
ever merges lover into loving
words into water
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