Rain On The River. Jim Dodge

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Rain On The River - Jim  Dodge

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      Stretched out on the couch

      By the cabin window at Bob’s,

      Watching the rain,

      Without pattern,

      Fall on the pond,

      Just me and the dogs.

       Wisdom and Happiness

      The wet crescents left by the dogs’ tongues

      licking spilled cat kibble from the cabin floor;

      the strand of light, finer than spider-spun,

      unspooling from the center of my chest

      as a 20-pound steelhead slashes downstream

      through the celadon waters of the Smith;

      the gleam of water on Victoria’s flanks

      in that moment of stepping

      from the sauna into a wild Pacific storm–

      vapor-wreathed shimmer, body gone;

      the elegance of an elk track

      cut in sandy streamside silt;

      red alder bud-break in early March;

      venison stew and fresh salmon,

      garden corn coming on;

      Jason asleep on a school night,

      his bare right leg dangling from the bed

      (geez, he’s getting big);

      sliding a chunk of madrone

      into the firebox on a snowy night,

      damping the wood heater down

      for coals to kindle the morning’s fire;

      the way the terriers sneeze and leap and race

      deliriously through the orchard

      when they know we’re going on a walk;

      raindrops still cupped in huckleberry leaves

      hours after the rain has stopped:

      I made 55 years today, still hanging on,

      and though only fools lay claim to wisdom

      I don’t know what else to call it

      when every year

      it takes less to make me happy,

      and it lasts longer.

       Red Sails

      I sit at my desk

      and for no apparent reason

      start singing, badly,

       Red sails in the sunset…

      sing it until I sail out of myself,

      whatever a self is,

      crazier than shit,

      you bet,

      and deeply grateful.

       Squall & Commotion

      You’ve reached bottom

      when you understand

      there is no bottom

      to reach.

      And just rock there drenched

      on the ship’s bow,

      watching the rain

      fall on the ocean.

       Slow Learner

       Know the plants.

      –GARY SNYDER

      It’s been 50 years, most oblivious, but now,

      if only in glimpses, I can look at plants

      and feel the light composing them.

      Falling asleep, I comfort myself

      with a little prayer of their names:

      alder, larkspur, thimbleberry, salal.

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