CXLVII: A better source of life than is the Sun

Some reeds beside some nameless Oregon creek

do more to me than mountains in the Sun.

For more than swelling sunsets do I seek:

for bounties that, beside the river, run.

It's lush there. Not in some self-vaunting way,

but with a kind caress to all who sigh.

Each soul who finds it and chooses to stay

is fed with ev'ry hour that passes by.

Who'd think that some dry desert rat like me

would love a watered creekside soddy skein?

But some would say that that's how it should be:

the water loves the fire; the sand: the rain.

I do. I love those reeds beside the creek.

They make being so broken much less bleak.