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