Our maker will not cradle us
swaddle us swing us may well drop us

Who hustled us up from dust
Who anointed us bestowed us

Who will take us back
to the good ol’ days of oblivion

to that lazy river down by the riverside
to that not-ness that lightness

to that un-being straightaway
from here to there like a brazen bee

come buzzing through an open window
to take a seat beside the fearful

we had all been a single cell
a playground swing of unreason

river of risk in a meadow
we were reckless

stupid gurgling riparian
one town and the next to the mouth

of the Umpqua to the mouth
of a man named Leo who told us

death’s the speechless spray
where river enters sea